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4 



THE BETTER PART, 



“ Mother,” said Marie, as she placed the twins in Madam 
Dalbau’s lap, “ I bring you two more children.” 


THE 


BETTER PART 


A TALE FROM REAL LIFE. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 


THE LADY BLANCHE MURPHY. 



3ph 


NEW. YORK, CINCINNATI, and ST. LOUIS. 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 


Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 




Copyright, 1876, by Benziger Bros, 


CONTENTS 


Page 

PART FIRST 7 

PART SECOND, 87 



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THE BETTER PART. 


PART FIRST. 

I. 

The early beams of a hot July sun shed their 
cheerful light on a garret of the Rue Basse, at 
Rennes, where a young girl of sixteen sat by the 
window, sewing busily. Another girl, somewhat 
older, was lying on a plain walnut bed, which 
stood at the further end of the room, shrouded 
by calico curtains. 

Every thing about this unpretending room was 
poor — indeed, it hardly contained the barest neces- 
saries of life. An unstained deal table, four coarse 
straw chairs, and a window-curtain with green 
serge — that was all. And yet the garret, spite of 
its evident poverty, presented a cheerful sight 
enough. The utmost neatness prevailed ; the 
uncarpeted floor was scrupulousl}?' clean ; the 
walls, carefully whitewashed, had lost none of 
their freshness, while the window, veiled as it 


8 


THE BETTER PART. 


was with scarlet-runners, morning-glories, and 
nasturtiums — those unfailing friends of the poor — 
admitted a softened light, together with the sweet 
and suggestive perfume of mignonette. 

The modest apartment seemed to owe its 
cheerful aspect and the blessing on its occupants 
to the little image of the Blessed Virgin, which 
stood on the mantelpiece, together with a china 
holy-water font and two blue glass vases full of 
flowers. 

Noisily the bells of the parish-church of St. 
Stephen clanged out the hour of six. The sleeper 
started slightly, and stretching her arms, queru- 
lously exclaimed. 

How badly I have slept, to be sure ! and 
that horrid clock must needs wake me up before 
the time. Where are you, Marie ?” 

“ Here, Martha dear; I am at work.’' 

What, already ?” 

“ Did you not hear six o’clock strike just 
now? You know the shop opens at seven, and I 
had promised Mother Yvonne that her summer 
jacket should be finished yesterday.” 

And so it is for Mother Yvonne that you get 
up before daylight, and sit up half the night, at 
the risk of falling ill.” 

Do we not owe a great deal to that kind old 
woman? What should we have done without 
her help ? But let us drop the subject, Martha 


THE BETTER PART. 


9 


dear, since we can not agree upon it. Let us 
think of our breakfast, for I have done now. I’ll 
lay the table while you dress.” 

With these words, Marie cheerfully drew the 
table forward, and placed upon it a few cheap 
fruits, some bread and butter, and a certain milky 
product known as “ curds and whey.” Marie, in- 
deed, did honor to this early breakfast ; but 
Martha was still too drowsy to feel hungry, and 
her face wore a discontented and constrained 
expression. 

“ O dear !” she yawned, “ how wearied I am 
of this tiresome life of ours ; always this wretched 
sameness, this hard necessity of unceasing work ! 
I believe I shall die of sheer ennui, if nothing 
happens soon to relieve this dreadful monotony.” 

“ But^ dearest, what do you find so very 
dreadful in our life ? True, we are obliged to 
work, but we are not the only ones in the same 
predicament. We have never really wanted for 
any thing as yet, thank God ! My tastes are so 
simple that if on Sundays I can reckon on a walk 
in the country, after mass, I feel quite contented. 
What more do we want ?” 

'‘Ah! I should have recollected that your 
tastes and mine do not harmonize. I can not, for 
my part, endure such monotony. My mind, of 
a higher stamp than yours, carries me away and 
shuts out from my sight any but the poetic 


lO THE BETTER PART. 

phases of life. You have not been blessed with 
my beauty, and therefore can not understand 
what I feel when I se'e the best years of my life 
slip by in such loneliness.” 

Loneliness, Martha, when you have a sister! 
Darling, do you love me no longer, or have I 
done any thing to vex you 

No, you are kind to me, Marie; but I say it 
again, you can not understand nor share my feel- 
ings. I feel an eager desire to change this life 
for a very different one ; to pass into circles 
where work is not obligatory, and where one’s 
days can be spent in the delights of poetic inter- 
course and intellectual friendship.” 

“ My poor Martha, I hope that God may never 
grant your prayer, for you might bitterly repent 
it some day. I have always thought that happi- 
ness consisted in being able to regulate our 
tastes according to the position in which it has 
pleased Providence to place us. No, I am not 
beautiful, I know it, and do not crave for flattery 
and admiration, but still I feel the want of intel- 
lectual companionship as much as you do. I 
used to think, Martha dear, that no real friend- 
ship could exist save between two sisters, and I 
often thanked God for having given me a sister, 
to make up for the loss of our dear parents, of 
whom you so often remind me. But now I see 
that my love is not enough for you, and although 


THE BETTER PART. 


II 


I grieve to know what I had already begun to 
suspect, still I love you well enough to hope that 
if your wishes are ever realized, they may not 
entail upon you both disappointment and de- 
spair, the natural consequences of a mistaken 
view of life.” 

“ I see you know Monsieur I’Abbe de Sur- 
ville’s sermons to me by heart. But never mind ; 
something tells me that a lucky change will take 
place in my life soon, and for the sake of my 
good fortune, 1 will forgive your preaching.” 

Marie was silent, but a tear glistened in her 
eye, and as if to hide her feelings, she busied her- 
self in putting things to rights. Then with a lov- 
ing kiss, she left her sister and went quickly out 
of the room. 

Martha leaned wearily out of the window, and 
reasoned thus to herself, after Marie had left her 
alone. 

How simple my sister must be, and how 
narrow-minded she is ! How otherwise can she 
be^ happy in this wretched garret, having once 
known wealth? O high fortune, poetry of life, 
what is there lacking in me that forbids me to 
aspire to your delights ? Have I not beauty and 
intellect? Yes, beauty !” she added as she look- 
ed at herself in a little mirror that hung near 
the window-frame. “ How many women reared 
in wealth and flattery have neither the grace of 


12 


THE BETTER PART. 


my figure nor the charm of my expression ! And 
why should all this be wasted, why should I 
spend my life unknown to the world, with no 
companions but my quiet sister, old Mother 
Yvonne, and the Abb6 Surville, who is always 
lecturing me. I must lead a different life, and I 
even feel myself equal to any undertaking that 
may be necessary to win this position. Only 
Paris, that unapproachable capital, can offer me 
a career worthy of my talents. Why am I not 
already there Would to God that my presenti- 
ment were a true one !” 

Martha thus allowed her imagination to carry 
her away, and she never noticed how the morn- 
ing hours were gliding away too ; but while she 
follows her vagrant thoughts, let us stop to ex- 
plain how it was that she and her sister, while 
still so young, found themselves the arbiters of 
their own destinies. 


II. 

Monsieur Delmas, an honest and intelligent 
man, had begun life as a workman. His steadi- 
ness and economy had soon drawn his master’s 
attention, and as the latter was a rich man, and 
fully appreciated Delmas’s good qualities, he was 
at first raised to th-e position of foreman, and 
when old age made his employer feel the need of 
rest, the continuance of the business was made 
over to him. 

The young man’s good reputation and the po- 
sition he had won for himself enabled him to 
make a good marriage in the eyes of the world. 
His domestic happiness was untroubled, for his 
gentle and loving wife could always make him 
forget at home the feverish worry that is insepa- 
rable from business abroad. At first, fortune smil- 
ed upon him, and he made money rapidly. Three 
years after their marriage, Martha’s birth further 
gladdened Monsieur and Madame Delmas, and 
eighteen months later, another daughter, Marie, 
was’ born to them. Surrounded by a certain amount 
of luxury, and carefully watched over by their lov- 


THE BETTER PART. 


14 

ing parents, the two girls grew up to the respec- 
tive ages of ten and twelve. The older was a 
lovely child. Her delicate oval face shone forth 
from a glory of magnificent fair hair ; her com- 
plexion was faultless in its admirable blending of 
color; and a freak of nature had endowed her 
with a pair of large black eyes, shaded by long 
eyelashes equally jetty. 

Marie was less favored by nature. Her large, ir- 
regular features were far from pleasing, especially 
at first sight, yet on further inspection, one could 
not help thinking her charming. What confirm- 
ed this idea was an expression of goodness and 
sweetness which lighted up her face, and shone 
in her black eyes, fully as beautiful as her sister’s, 
but surpassing them in their look of cheerful, 
well-tempered gayety. 

The two girls, thus outwardly dissimilar, were 
morally not less unlike each other. Marie was 
affectionate and grateful ; her greatest happiness 
consisted in deserving her parents’ caresses, and 
giving them pleasure by her conduct. Her in- 
stinct taught her what most delighted her moth- 
er’s heart, and though so young, she was almost 
Madame Delmas’s friend. 

Martha, on the contrary, needed a judicious 
and severe rule. She manifested a selfishness 
that knew no bounds ; she cared for nothing 
but the notice which her father’s customers 


THE BETTER PART. 


15 


openly took of her beauty. As quick-witted 
as her sister, she nevertheless turned to a very 
different use the education which they both re- 
ceived at the best school at Rennes. Marie, who 
was painstaking and earnest in her studies, turn- 
ed her mind to all the more solid branches of 
knowledge, while Martha, caring for nothing but 
outward accomplishments, studied music and 
drawing in the most superficial manner, and 
though possessed of real talent for both arts, de- 
rived no benefit from the lessons she took in 
them. When, at fifteen, she was able to draw a 
classic profile with tolerable accuracy, play a new 
sonata at sight without stumbling over too many 
tough passages, and sing a sentimental romance 
without breaking down, she considered herself a 
finished artist, and utterly neglected the rigorous 
practice which alone could have perfected her in 
these studies. Her mother would fain have tried 
to counteract her unfortunate tendencies, but 
Madame Delmas’s health was too delicate to allow 
her to exert herself with im-punity ; and the rever- 
ses that speedily overwhelmed the family put an 
end to any hopes she might have had of under- 
taking such a task. 

Monsieur Delmas’s business suffered from the 
political agitation of the years 1846 and ’47 ; seve- 
ral of his speculations ended in undoubted losses, 
and the political horizon, darkening every day, 


1 6 THE BETTER PART. 

threatened to make these losses permanent. His 
wife bravely bore up under the first shock, and 
by her attitude succeeded in cheering his heart 
a little. Her hopes, however, were delusive ; 
1848 came, and her husband, already weakened 
by his previous losses, and seeing no way of 
meeting his engagements, endeavored, on the 
strength of his unstained and well-known repu- 
tation, to contract a loan which should enable 
him to weather the storm. The panic was too 
universal, and the scared bankers would not ac- 
cept even his security, so that it soon became 
with him a question either of a dishonorable fail- 
ure or the sacrifice of his personal position. 

Between the two, his choice never wavered for 
one moment. With his wife’s cordial consent, 
for she generously understood her sad duty, he 
sold his private possessions — house, furniture, 
plate, every thing, even to his wife’s costliest 
garments. He was thus able to satisfy every cre- 
ditor in full, and by the middle of June, the fam- 
ily settled down in a modest little apartment of 
the Rue Basse, the remainder of their fortune 
scarcely amounting to two thousand francs. 

The unhappy father was broken-hearted ; in 
vain he tried to work and begin anew ; his health 
gave way, and by September, he was dead. His 
widow resolved to live for her children’s sake, 
and with the help of her youngest daughter, who 


THE BETTER PART. 


17 


evinced a fortitude beyond her years, she set up 
as a seamstress and embroideress, and toiled for 
six months at this dreary and unprofitable labor. 
Martha, meanwhile, was selfishly cast down by 
her troubles, and while her mother and sister 
worked hard for their living, spent her own time 
in vain complainings and lamentations. One 
friend did not desert the unfortunate family. This 
was the Abb6 Surville, a kind priest, who often 
came to comfort them, and sought, by every deli- 
cate means in his power, to relieve their poverty. 
Knowing Marie’s good qualities, he endeavored 
to stir up her sister to imitate them. He succeed- 
ed in procuring a few pupils for Martha, but the 
young girl’s selfishness and indolence soon taught 
her to think her part in the work too toilsome, 
and the result of her negligence was that she 
found herself reduced, in a very short time, to 
one pupil only. 

In February, 1849, Madame Delmas’s health 
succumbed under the double burden of anxiety 
and work. She fell ill of congestion of the 
lungs. Marie nursed her most devotedly, and 
when, after a fortnight’s sickness, the poor 
mother breathed her last, she did so with her eyes 
fixed on her youngest daughter’s face, which to 
the last gasp was faithfully near her, the symbol 
of consolation and hope. This terrible blow 
roused Martha from her supineness, and for a 


i8 


THE BETTER PART. 


time caused her the most bitter grief, but her sel- 
fishness soon regained the upper hand, and she 
contemplated her future with mean dread. She 
was sixteen, her sister not yet fifteen, and their 
whole capital amounted to two hundred francs. 
The good priest came to their help in this emer- 
gency, and advised them to leave their neat little 
apartment for the tiny garret in which our story 
first presented them to the reader. They kept 
nothing save their most indispensable belongings, 
and still, by the Abbe Surville’s advice, they 
placed their money in a savings-bank. 

Marie found a place as seamstress in a large 
dress-making establishment, where her mistress, 
delighted with her eagerness and amiability, gave 
her very fair wages. 

Martha had only her solitary pupil, but she 
felt no shame at contributing such an inadequate 
sum to their common fund, and did not even 
scruple to repine at her circumstances, her priva- 
tions, and even the very necessity for work. Ma- 
rie bore patiently with these lamentations, cheer- 
fully worked for both, and always showed herself 
as kind and affectionate to her sister as the latter 
was impatient and ill-tempered toward herself. 

A poor woman who gained her livelihood by 
spinning, and rented the adjoining garret to that 
of the Delmas girls, took a sudden liking to the 
gentle Marie, and often did the sisters a hundred 


THE BETTER PART. 


19 


little kindnesses. This was the woman we have 
heard of as Mother Yvonne. Martha had been 
ill for a short time, and to save Marie the task 
of nursing her, and thereby losing her place at the 
shop, Yvonne had volunteered to watch by the 
sick-bed altogether, refusing any pay for her ser- 
vices. Marie never forgot her disinterestedness, 
and being deeply grateful, endeavored to recom- 
pense her by an almost filial devotion. Martha, 
on the other hand, quickly lost sight of all she 
owed her, and thought it quite beneath her to 
notice the poor old woman. 

This had been the sisters’ life for upward of 
eighteen months, and while, as we have already 
seen, Marie, in her brave and cheerful spirit, never 
complained of any hardship, Martha was selfish- 
ly wrapped up in her wish for a change that was 
only to benefit herself, and quite overlooked her 
sister, to whom in reality she owed so much. 


III. 


It was the evening of the same day on which 
the two sisters had held the above-mentioned 
conversation. Marie was waiting supper for 
Martha, and was even beginning to feel anxious, 
so long had her sister overstopped her customary 
hour for her return home. She had almost de- 
cided to go out and look for her, when Martha 
entered the room, in evident agitation. She 
threw herself on Marie’s neck, and in a sobbing 
voice cried out, 

“ Marie, I am going away at last. Oh ! I am 
so glad !” 

“ What do you mean, dear ?” 

“ I am going to Paris.” 

“To Paris!” echoed Marie, in dismay; “it 
can not be.” 

“ Sister, hear, and fancy my delight. Madame 
la Comtesse de Kerbriant was with her daugh- 
ter during the lesson to-day ; she has never been 
with us before. She noticed my sadness, and 
kindly asked me why I grieved. I told her 
about our circumstances, our poverty, and my 


THE BETTER PART. 


21 


desire to make for myself a position better befit- 
ting my tastes. She listened very kindly, and 
then asked me if I thought I could take charge of 
a young girl’s whole education. I told her that 
I thought myself equal to the undertaking. 

' Well, then,’ she answered, ‘your face pleases me, 
and I should like you to owe the accomplish- 
ment of your desires to me. It would be a 
pity to let such beauty as yours “ waste its sweet- 
ness on the desert air.” Be my daughter Irene’s 
governess : we shall start for Paris in a week, if 
you can be ready by that time.’ I was beside my- 
self with joy, and bathed her hands with my tears. 
I was introduced to the count, her husband, who 
quite acquiesced in the arrangement. My pre- 
sentiment is fulfilled, and I am certain of success. 
I shall actually be in Paris in a few days.” 

Marie was speechless with sorrow and amaze- 
ment. 

“ What !” she asked at last, “ did you promise 
before you could ask the Abbe de Surville’s ad- 
vice ?” 

“ Oh ! indeed ! that he might have the oppor- 
tunity of preventing me from giving the promise, 
and of lecturing me again on the hundred and 
one gentle qualities which he so admires in me. I 
am eighteen now, and old enough to take care of 
myself. I did not choose to let my one oppor- 
tunity slip by.” 


22 


THE BETTER PART. 


“ I have heard the Abbe de Surville say, that 
a governess’s position is a very trying one. Have 
you any idea, Martha dear, what duties you will 
be called upon to fulfill ?” 

Marie, if I do not choose to listen to our old 
friend’s remonstrances, much less do I feel in- 
clined to hear yours. My resolve is taken, and I 
mean to go. Thank God, this horrid garret will 
not afflict my eyes any longer. My new home is 
just what I dreamt of, sister. My father’s house 
was handsome enough ; but compared with the 
magnificence of Kerbriant House, it was almost 
mean. The countess tells me that their Paris 
house is far finer yet than the one she lives in 
here, and I am to have my own rooms there. 
How happy I shall be !” 

“ But with all that splendor, you will not find 
the sweetness of home, Martha. Madame de 
Kerbriant’s slightest caprice may one day send 
you back to a position much less secure than 
even what you now possess and despise ; for in 
Paris you would have neither relations nor 
friends to go to in case of need.” 

Marie paused for a moment, then sadly added 
these words, in a low tone, 

“ Martha, my darling, how can you think of 
leaving me, I who care for nothing but lighten- 
ing your burden and making life happier to you ? 
Oh ! why can not I win for you, by my own work, 


THE BETTER PART. 


23 


that wealth and position that you long for ? 
fear so many sorrows, so many disappointments 
for you in the life you are choosing. Stay with 
me, sister; nobody will ever love you more than 
I do, and is not a devoted love life’s best boon ? 
You can not love me if you want to leave me.” 

“ You know I love you, Marie, you know it 
well, but you want to exact from me even the 
sacrifice of my life’s happiness. Only an intellec- 
tual career can satisfy me, but you are seemingly 
content with obscure drudgery. I consent to 
admire your conduct, but for heaven’s sake do 
not ask me to imitate it.” 

May you be happy, Martha dear, that is all 
I care for, but I trust that the brilliant opening 
you have now secured may never turn to a bit- 
ter disappointment in the end.” 

The week passed quickly by ; Martha spent 
all her time looking over her plain wardrobe, 
and making what little additions she could to it, 
so as not to present herself before her noble 
patroness in too pitiful a guise. Notwithstanding 
her aching heart, Marie helped her willingly, 
but never ceased begging of her not to go. The 
Abbe Surville endeavored, on his side, to prove 
to the impulsive girl that she was mistaken con- 
cerning the advantages which she expected from 
her new career. Both tender entreaty and pru- 
dent advice wtre in vain ; Martha was immova- 


24 


THE BETTER PART. 


ble. The long-wished-for day came at last, and 
Madame de Kerbriant’s carriage was sent to 
fetch Mademoiselle Delmas. 

Martha was radiant ; she hastily kissed her 
sister, bowed to the venerable priest, who had 
insisted upon seeing the last of her, shook hands 
condescendingly with old Yvonne, and got into 
the carriage with an air of relief and of triumph. 

“ You will write to me often, won’t you ?” 
asked Marie, with tears streaming down her 
cheeks. 

“ Of course I shall, dear sister, you will see. 
I shall not be remiss in my correspondence. Do 
not cry so, please, else I might cry for sympathy, 
and I should not like the countess to think that 
I am going with her against my will. I shall be 
back in a few months. Give me another kiss, 
and let us think of our future meeting.” 

The carriage disappeared from sight, and 
Marie, supported by the good priest, went back 
to her garret, which seemed to her too large for 
herself alone, and where she gave way unre- 
strainedly to her sore grief. 

“ Let us pray, my child,” said the Abbe Sur- 
ville ; your poor sister needs the protection of 
Providence more than ever; but the Queen of 
Heaven is never appealed to in vain. Let us 
pray, therefore.” 

And while Martha vainly entertains dreams 


THE BETTER PART. 


25 


of grandeur and magnificence, Marie, kneeling 
before the image of the Blessed Virgin, be- 
seeches the Mother of God to watch over her 
sister, and ward off from her the dangers that 
threaten her soul. 


IV. 

“Rennes, October i, 1851. 

“ Dearest Martha : Have you forgotten 
me ? It is two whole months since you left, and 
I have not heard a word yet. Can it be that you 
are ill ? 

“ How impatiently I watch the postman every 
morning, hoping that he brings me a letter from 
my sister! When he passes by and brings me 
nothing, tears dim my sight, and I feel more 
lonely than ever. Rennes seems like a desert ; 
my thoughts fly to Paris, to my forgetful Mar- 
tha, with whom I am always in heart and spirit. 

“ Our poor little room seems so large and bare 
now that I have not you to share it with me. 
And how sad it seems too ! The window that 
was once so profusely adorned with mignonette, 
nasturtiums, morning-glories, and scarlet-run- 
ners, is quite bare now. Since you left, I have 
been so taken up with my grief that I have neg- 
lected our poor flowers, and this morning I 
found nothing but faded leaves and dried-up 
stalks. I was sorry, and upbraided myself for this 


THE BETTER PART. 


V 


neglect ; but more sorrowful thoughts than ever 
intruded themselves on my mind. Do help me 
to chase them away, at least by telling me that 
you are still happy. 

Monsieur I’Abbe Surville came to see me 
yesterday ; we talked of you the whole time — in- 
deed, I could not have broached any other subject. 
This kind friend of ours sends you the most af- 
fectionate messages. He feels all a father’s 
solicitude for you, and will be so glad if you can 
tell us that you are happy. I hope, dear sis- 
ter, that you will not neglect writing to him. 

Even old Yvonne inquires after you every 
day ; poor thing ! she is truly fond of you, though 
you always treated her so coldly. Martha dear, 
I think Paris will never furnish you with such 
devoted friends as those you have left behind 
you. Your departure made us wretched enough, 
and now your apparent neglect wounds us still 
more. 

Do not refuse us the comfort and delight of 
knowing that you still love us a little, and, above 
all, remember 3^our devoted sister, 

Marie.” 

'‘Paris, October 14, 1851. 

“ Oh ! how large and beautiful a city Paris is, 
dear Marie ! How shall I describe the grandeur 
of this unrivaled city, its splendid palaces, its 


28 


THE BETTER PART. 


picturesque gardens, and, above all, the brilliancy 
and the ever-varying aspect of the crowd that 
always throngs the large streets ! 

“ How different is this activity to the stagnant 
life that distinguishes our old Breton capital ! 
Life at Rennes is smothered in an atmosphere 
of old-fashioned prejudices, and is spent in 
sordid, material cares. But in Paris ! the be- 
numbed intellect awakens ; the world of poetry 
and art hastens to meet it — at last, this is life. 

Such is my own history, Marie. I was 
plunged in the Slough of Despond, and suffered 
bitterly from the cramped existence we were 
forced to lead ; but the trial is over now, and I 
have found my level. 

Our journey was prosperous. The count and 
countess are kindness itself to me, and my little 
pupil can not find ways enough to prove to me 
how pleased she is at being intrusted to my sole 
guidance. The house in which we live stands 
in the most courtly quarter of Paris, the Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain. The entrance is on Rue 
de Babylone. The great gates open into a large 
courtyard, with orange and lemon-trees planted 
in green tubs. A flight of steps leads up to the 
house-door. From this side, the building looks 
somewhat grim, but it is lovely from the garden 
side. On the ground floor is a large hall paved 
with marble, leading to the dining-room and 


THE BETTER PART. 


29 


three immense drawing-rooms. The dining- 
room is paneled in old carved oak ; the ceiling 
is frescoed, and represents hunting, fishing, and 
vintage scenes. In the four corners, alabaster 
statues support rich candelabra, while a crystal 
chandelier of marvelous workmanship hangs 
from the centre of the ceiling. The window- 
curtains are of purple silk damask, and there 
are two large antique sideboards loaded with 
old plate and rare glass. A state dinner in this 
hall is really a sight worth seeing. I was lucky 
enough to witness the sight only three weeks 
after my arrival. One of the drawing-rooms is 
furnished in blue silk damask, with here and 
there Venetian mirrors let in, and divided into 
panels by thin gilt rods. The second room is 
furnished in green velvet, and the third in crim- 
son velvet. The oak floor is covered with rich 
carpets. Magnificent as are these rooms, they 
are far outdone by the countess’s boudoir, to 
which only the intimate friends of the family 
have access. You can not fancy any thing 
more original, and at the same time more 
lovely, than this boudoir. The walls are panel- 
ed in lacquer, on whose black, shining back- 
ground the most delightful, fresh-looking paint- 
ings stand quaintly out. A thousand rare fancy 
articles strew the pretty ^tag^res, and the room 
is lighted by Chinese lanterns. A silver cornice, 


30 


THE BETTER PART. 


supported by caryatides, runs round the ceiling, 
which is painted the same as the walls. The 
curtains and furniture are of black satin, bro- 
caded with brilliant flower-patterns. The black 
marble chimney-piece, in the Renaissance style, 
has a set of silver ornaments, and the windows 
are all of stained glass. 

“ On the first floor are the count and coun- 
tess’s private apartments, and my pupil and I 
live on the second floor. I have an anteroom, 
with a dressing-room to the right ; to the left, 
a drawing-room, a small study, and a bedroom. 
All the rooms are furnished in gray chintz, strewn 
with bouquets of rosebuds. A splendid piano- 
forte stands in the drawing-room. My windows 
look into the garden — a spacious and beautiful 
one. You see, dear Marie, that I am living in a 
real palace ; and yet I have not mentioned a 
gallery full of old pictures, all the best masters 
being represented there ; or a collection of anti- 
quities, and one of natural history, which are 
Monsieur de Kerbriant’s special pride, and the 
delight of the savants and artists whom he loves 
to have around him. 

“ This state is easily kept up by an im- 
mense fortune, which will be increased some 
day by the death of Monsieur de Kerbriant’s 
father, an old gentleman over eighty ; and to all 
this my pupil Irene is the sole heiress ! 


THE BETTER PART. 


31 


‘‘ Ah ! why are such riches given to some, and 
such disproportionate poverty to others ? Those 
who possess these advantages are generally the 
least worthy of them ; certainly, Irene is the 
most commonplace child I ever knew. She has 
no beauty and very little mind. 

“ Her mother is full of my praises, and willing- 
ly leaves the child to my care. Monsieur de 
Kerbriant is most courteous in his behavior, and 
even the lady’s-maid is civil and confidential, and 
tells me all her little troubles, as she sits in my 
room at her sewing. She is eager to anticipate 
my wants, and I never have to give an order 
twice. 

“ I have been in Paris two whole months, and 
I have had nothing to do as yet but accompany 
Madame de Kerbriant in her drives and her 
visits to the different shops. She thinks highly 
of my good taste, and always asks my advice 
about her dress. Yesterday, she was kind enough 
to say that she wished me to be her friend. So 
you see that I have every reason to be content 
with my lot. I would willingly write to the 
abb6, but this letter is already a long one, and I 
have to help Madame de Kerbriant to prepare 
for a great party to-night. But it is not a thing 
neglected, only put off. Pray, thank him for 
his kind remembrances and intentions. If I did 
not follow his advice, it was only because I saw 


32 


THE BETTER PART. 


that he did not understand my character, and, I 
am sure, he will agree with me now that God 
has bestowed upon me the better part. Good- 
by, dear sister ; I wish you all possible happiness, 
for I love you very dearly. 

“ Your affectionate sister, 

“Martha Delmas.'’ 


V. 


Marie sits by the garret-window, with her 
sister’s letter held listlessly in her hands, while 
great tears course down her cheeks. She is fear- 
fully changed, poor girl ! her fresh color has 
gone, her eyes have lost their brightness and 
seem marked with an ominous shadow ; her fea- 
tures are sharpened and attenuated. Yvonne 
tries her simple consolations in vain, and gazes on 
the young girl with something like anxiety. 

Do you feel well, mademoiselle ?” she asks, 
“ you look wearied. It is a long time since you 
got up, and you should not be so imprudent. 
The doctor told me not to let you sit up longer 
than two hours at a time.” 

I am quite well. Mother Yvonne,” answered 
Marie in a weak voice, “and the weather is so 
fine that a little air will do me good. I am not 
ill now, this letter has quite cured me ; for does 
not Martha assure me that she loves me truly ?” 

“ Oh ! yes, I dare say she loves you ; but all 


34 


THE BETTER PART. 


the same it was her neglect of her promise to 
write which was the cause of your sickness. You 
say this letter has cured you ; but why do you 
cry so sorely when you look at it ?” 

“ It is only my foolishness, my poor Yvonne. 
I always forget how different my sister is from 
myself, and I should have liked to find her a 
little more demonstrative in her affection.” 

“You are so good. Mademoiselle Marie, that 
I can not imagine how your sister had the heart 
to leave you. Surely God will punish her for 
her indifference to your feelings.” 

“ You must not say such things, Yvonne,” 
cried Marie quickly ; “ Martha was perfectly free 
to choose her own life, and was by no means 
obliged to stifle her desires in order to stay with 
me, who could never have compensated her for 
such a sacrifice. All that I ask is, that Madame 
de Kerbriant should keep her word, and give my 
sister a position really worthy of her talents.” 

“ Well, well,” grumbled Yvonne, going back 
to her spinning-wheel, “ Though I am only a 
poor old woman, I know that you are worth a 
hundred such as Mademoiselle Martha, and that 
you know a great deal more than she does, 
though she did make such a fuss about herself.” 

Marie’s answer was interrupted b}^ the en- 
trance of the Abbe Surville. 

“ Well, and how is my little friend to-day? Do 


THE BETTER PART. 


35 


not disturb yourself,” he added, gently pushing 
Marie back to her seat. “You have been crying 
again ! it is of no use to deceive me, your red 
eyes betray you. Why ivill you read your sis- 
ter’s letter over and over again, since it seems to 
you so callous or at least so cold ? Come, child, 
be reasonable ; remember that so sudden a 
change has turned poor Martha’s head ; when the 
first impression has worn off, her heart will turn 
to you again in love and confidence.” 

“ I hope it may, but it is hardly likely,” said 
Marie sadly ; “ my sister looks down upon me. 
When I tell her of my sad, lonely life, she finds 
no answer but a description of the beauty of the 
house she lives in, and the wealth that surrounds 
her ; but she has no time to write a few comfort- 
ing words that may soften the separation which 
has broken my heart.” 

“ Listen to me, Marie,” earnestly said the 
priest, “ and forget your sister’s shortcomings. 
What she tells you in her letter makes me trem- 
ble for her sake, and I fear some disappointment 
is near at hand for her. Martha will want a 
strong, devoted heart upon which to lean. Where 
is she to find this ? I am an old man and know 
the world. Madame de Kerbriant is a frivolous 
woman who will get tired of your sister some day, 
and when her fancy is over, she will quickly for- 
get her promises. Another thing that is likely 


3 ^ 


THE BETTER PART. 


to blast your sister’s hopes is the intimacy that 
seems to exist between her and the lady’s-maid ; 
nothing could be more ill advised. That woman 
will worm herself into your sister’s confidence, 
and then if any coldness arises between the coun- 
tess and Martha, she will take care to envenom 
it by taking alternately the part of the person to 
whom she happens to be speaking. What will 
become of our poor imprudent little friend ; 
where will she look for help and protection 
then ?” 

“ Here, in my arms,” cried Marie, interrupting 
the good priest. “ Thank you. Monsieur rAbb6, 
you have shown me my duty. I must set to work 
in good earnest, in order that, should any misfor- 
tune happen to Martha, I may be able to offer 
her a home such as would suit her tastes, and 
where she could forget her troubles.” 

‘‘ I expected nothing less from your courage- 
ous nature, my child,” said the Abbe Surville ; 
“ and every day do I pray to God to bless you 
and strengthen you in your resolve.” 

“ Never fear. Monsieur le Cure,” said Yvonne. 
‘‘ Heaven watches over Mademoiselle Marie, and 
I am sure will make her rich and happy some 
day ; indeed, it will be but her right.” 

“ I will write to Martha,” said the priest; “ for 
I must point out to her the dangers that threaten 
her ; and if I can not convince her, at least I shall 


THE BETTER PART. 


37 


have the consolation to know that I left no stone 
unturned in her favor.” 

“ And I will add a few lines to your letter, if 
you will let me,” added Marie. “ I am not angry 
with my sister now ; I only want to surround her 
with such tender care that she will not be able to 
help rewarding me with her whole love and con- 
fidence.” 

Marie’s former cheerfulness seemed to return 
as she made this generous resolve, and she hasten- 
ed to put writing materials at once within the 
priest’s reach. That evening the following letter 
was duly posted. 


Rennes, November 9, 1851. 

“ Your sister, my dear child, showed me your 
letter, and I am anxious to answer the passage re- 
ferring to myself. Believe me, I am your devot- 
ed friend, and my most earnest wish is to see 
you happy. Do not think, therefore, that it is 
but a spirit of contradiction which urges me to 
give you a little advice. You said I never under- 
stood your character ; indeed, my child, I fathom- 
ed it but too well, and for that reason only did I 
try to turn you from the path toward which you 
inclined. 

“ You are young and lack experience ; do not 
refuse to listen to an old man who would fain save 


38 


THE BETTER PART. 


you from many a disappointment, to say nothing 
of unavailing remorse. You have undertaken a 
very difficult task ; have you well weighed its at- 
tendant responsibilities? To be a child’s gover- 
ness means to become the mother of its heart and 
intellect, the guide which is to develop its good 
qualities and destroy its evil tendencies ; it means 
a solemn promise to cultivate its mind, and to 
give it, together with the solid foundation of all 
education, the accomplishments befitting its sta- 
tion in life. 

“ Do you feel yourself competent to fill these 
duties ? Ask your conscience this question, and ask 
it impartially. It must needs answer you that such 
is not the case. You never strove seriously to 
acquire the knowledge which your present posi- 
tion renders indispensable : how then can you im- 
part this knowledge to Irene ? 

I know that you will think me hard upon 
you, but I only speak such words that I may save 
you on the very brink of danger, while there is yet 
time. You would do better to leave Madame de 
Kerbriant at once, than stay to incur her displeas- 
ure at a later time ; but if you persist in remain- 
ing with her, at least act with common prudence. 

“ You tell your sister that the lady’s-maid 
makes a confident of you. This is a decided dan- 
ger for you, my poor child, and you would do well 
to put a stop to such familiarity. Never treat 


THE BETTER PART. 


39 


the servants otherwise than with the strictest 
good-breeding, but take care, on the other hand, 
never to give them a hold on your private life, 
and above all, never tell them your little troubles, 
your petty vexations. Your own words, misin- 
terpreted and misunderstood, will be officiously 
reported to the countess, and become the source 
of far worse vexations. 

“ I do not wish to reproach you, Martha, but I 
have something serious yet to tell you. Your 
sister’s life hung in the balance during five days, 
and, though she is out of danger at present, it 
will be long, I fear, before she recovers her former 
strength. Whence came this sickness, which 
might have been a fatal one ? It was owing to 
your own indifference and neglect. You left her 
gladly ; unheeding her grief, you even forgot to 
write for a very long time. 

*‘Then she wrote to you, and her letter was 
full of tender solicitude. You took a fortnight to 
answer it, and then found nothing to speak of but 
the wealth and splendor in the midst of which 
you are now living. Not a kind word to comfort 
her in her loneliness and sadness, only a brief 
formal assurance that you love her. 

‘‘Your conduct is very heartless, Martha, not 
to say ungrateful ; for you surely can not have 
forgotten Marie’s kindness to you. I like to think 
that you will hasten to make up for the cruel im- 


40 


THE BETTER PART. 


pression which your silence has left on your sis- 
ter. 

“ I earnestly trust that your way of life may be 
an easy one; but, my child, do not think that riches 
only are requisite to make it so. Believe in Pro- 
vidence, and accept the position in which it has 
placed you. Remember that the only lasting 
happiness lies in the fulfillment of one’s duty. I 
shall often pray for you, and ask of God to give 
you a right understanding of his holy will, that 
you may be preserved from the dangers amid 
which your lot is cast. 

Under any circumstances, however, think of 
me as of your sincere and attached friend, 

“ L. SURVILLE.” 


“Dearest Martha: I am afraid Monsieur 
Surville has been scolding you on my account ; 
pray forgive me, darling, for I have been unrea- 
sonable. I wanted you to tell me you were as 
grieved as I am at our separation, and for a mo- 
ment, I even doubted your affection. 

“ But that is over, and I abjure such unkind 
thoughts. Send me a kiss and let us forget the 
past. I am truly glad that you have found such 
considerate kindness in your new home ; you de- 
serve it, dear. I shall feel quite happy if you 
will only write to me now and then, and above 


i 

THE BETTER PART. 4 1 

all, tell me if you have any trouble to worry 
you. 

I shall always remain your loving and devot- 
ed sister, Marie Deem as. 


Rennes, November 9, 1851.’ 


VI. 


The letters which we have just read did not 
meet with a very enthusiastic reception from 
Martha, immersed as she was in her worldly 
cares. 

“ I declare,” she commented, “that one would 
think I was utterly incapable of managing my 
own affairs ! I ought, forsooth, to keep a journal 
of all I do and think, and send it to the Abbe 
Surville, that he may judge whether it comes up 
to his antiquated notions ! I shall take good care 
to do nothing of the kind ; for I should expose 
myself to a storm of moral treatises. And con- 
cerning Marie, too, what tragical reproaches ! 
My neglect the cause of her illness ! Stuff and 
nonsense ! do I not love her as one loves a sister, 
and often think of her, and yet I feel in perfect 
health. Besides, my occupations are so numerous 
that I have not time to write often. Monsieur 
Surville and my sister vie with each other in 
foretelling misery and disappointment for me, 
and offering me advice and consolation. As to 
advice, I can hardly want it; for they are incapa- 


THE BETTER PART. 


43 


ble of appreciating the place I have won for my- 
self; while as for consolation, well, I will keep that 
in reserve ; it may become wonderfully useful 
some day, I dare say,” thought poor Martha, 
with a harsh laugh. 

Just then Irene came into the room. 

“ Are we going to study to-day, mademoi- 
selle ? I wish mamma would not make you go 
out with her so much, so that I might begin work 
again. 1 want to become a regular blue-stock- 
ing. I really am ashamed of myself when I see 
so many of my little friends so much more for- 
ward in their education. I must set to Avork, so 
that my father may be proud of his Irene.” 

“ You are quite right,” dryly answered Mar- 
tha ; “ but if your mother wishes me to go out 
. with her, I can not refuse to do so.” 

ril go and ask her to let you stay at home. 
I am sure she will not vex me by refusing.” 

The child ran away without waiting for an 
answer. 

What a little madcap!” cried the maid Jane, 
who was carrying a tray ; “ she almost made me 
upset your chocolate ; where was she going in 
such a hurry ?” 

“To ask her mother to let me stay at home, 
and begin her studies again.” 

“ Madame will not do that ; for her dress for 
Madame de TOrtal’s ball is coming this afternoon, 


44 


THE BETTER PART. 


and she will not decide upon taking it till she 
hears your advice.” 

“ I fear that dress will have to be changed. I 
advised the countess to have it in mauve, and she 
would choose green, which does not suit her 
complexion.” 

“ Ah ! but perhaps you do not know that ma- 
dame does not choose to grow old. She fancies 
herself still a beautiful girl ; she worries me 
terribly if I do not fully succeed in hiding be- 
neath a thick layer of pearl-powder the wrinkles 
that are beginning to show round her eyes, or if 
I let one gray hair escape the dyeing-brush. It 
is a real torment to have to dress a coquette. 
Madame is thirty-six, and she insists upon look- 
ing as fresh and attractive as you. Mademoi- 
selle Martha, who are not twenty.” 

That would be difficult certainly, but ma- 
dame is very good looking for her age.” 

Oh ! yes, well enough when she is alone, but 
she pales before you. Are you going to Madame 
de rOrtal’s ball too ?” 

“ I do not know yet ; I got the invitation, but 
as I have nothing but a plain white dress — ^ — ” 

“ But you will be charming so, mademoiselle,” 
eagerly said the maid, “ and I am sure you will 
be admired. If you only knew what a sensation 
you made at that great dinner that madame gave ! 
I was there, behind the dining-room door ; John 


THE BETTER PART. 


45 


and Lewis repeated to me every word that the 
guests said, I promise you, that many a noble 
lady was jealous of you that night.” 

Irene now returned and addressed her gover- 
ness. 

Mamma sent me for you, mademoiselle. She 
did promise not to take you out again to-day, but 
the dress-maker and the modiste both with her, 
and she wants your advice about her ball-dress. 
Go quick, please, and do come back soon ; I will 
go and get my books and writing in order and 
wait for you.” 

Ah ! indeed !” sneered the maid, “ get your 
books ready ; but when madame is trying on a 
dress, she requires some time, and if mademoi- 
selle Martha stays with her until she dismisses the 
modiste and the dress-maker, there will be very 
little time left for study.” 

Who asked your opinion on the subject, 
Jane ?” said the child ; then turning to Martha, 
she resumed, “You will think of me, won’t you, 
and hurry away as soon as you can ?” 

“Yes, I will promise you that,” said Martha, 
with a look of intelligence toward the lady’s-maid. 
She then went to the countess’s dressing room. 

Madame de Kerbriant sat listlessly rocking 
herself in a large arm-chair, examining laces 
and ribbons with which she did not seem very 
much pleased. 


46 


THE BETTER PART. 


“ Come quick,” she cried as the governess 
entered the room. “ I can not make up my mind. 

I really think I shall have to give up my plans 
altogether. Every thing seems against me. Ma- 
dame de rOrtal’s ball is to be to-morrow, and I 
have had a most excruciating headache ever since . 
this morning. My nerves are so shaken that I am 
not the same person. This dress which I thought 
charming yesterday seems in bad taste to-day ; 
do you not find it so ? It makes me look like a 
ghost,” she added, as she bent over a rich green 
silk brocade. 

I had taken the liberty to propose mauve, 
madame ; it is such a fine contrast with a bru- 
nette complexion.” 

*‘So,” cried the countess impatiently, ^‘you 
think that my dark skin only admits of neutral 
colors?” 

“ No, madame, but I think we must needs 
give in to certain fashionable dicta^ which for- 
bid a young married woman of twenty-five from 
dressing exactly the same as a girl of fifteen.” 

“ What do you mean ?” cried the countess, “ I 
hope I do not look like a grandmother yet!” 

“ Certainly not, madame ; but will you not try 
on this lovely dress? I am sure it will suit you 
to a nicety.” 

With the help of Martha and the dress-maker 
Madame de Kerbriant slipped on the rich toilette 


THE BETTER PART. 


47 

and placed herself before one of the Venetian 
mirrors. 

“ Oh ! it is really charming she said, “ if 
only I could have a little more color for to- 
morrow night !” 

She gazed coquettishly into the glass. But 
it seems to me that this new style makes the 
figure clumsy ; what do you think, Martha ?” 

“ Well, I hardly think it does, madame ; your 
figure always look slight.” 

By the by,” said the countess still address- 
ing Martha, '' what dress do you mean to wear 
to-morrow ?” 

I have not much choice. If I am to have 
the honor of accompanying you, I must wear my 
white dress with blue ribbons.” 

‘‘Just so; that will be both pretty and sim- 
ple, a very suitable toilette for a governess.” 

Martha bit her lips with vexation, and casting 
a look at herself in the mirror, thought that the 
beauty of the governess in plain white muslin 
would surely outdo that of the wealthy and 
superbly dressed countess. She did not fail to 
promise herself the gratification of making the 
most of the contrast. 

The dress-maker and the modiste had now and 
then hazarded a timid word of advice; but 
Madame de Kerbriant, absorbed in her favorite’s 
talk, hardly condescended to notice them. As 


48 


THE BETTER PART. 


for Martha herself, she affected a little scornful 
air of superiority, and took no heed of them when 
they appealed directly to her. 

A knock was suddenly heard at the door. 
“ Who is that coming to disturb us?” impatient- 
ly said the countess. “ Go and see, Martha.” 

Martha went and returned. 

It is the count who wishes me to go to Ma- 
demoiselle Irene. Have I your leave to go, ma- 
dame ?” 

“ No, indeed ! Irene can wait ; one day more 
or less will make no difference to her. You must 
see about my lace ; no one but you knows how 
to place it so artistically.” 

Monsieur de Kerbriant, tired of waiting out- 
side, made his way into the room. 

‘‘ I hope, my dear,” he began with a good- 
natured laugh, that you will at last condescend 
to grant my request. Poor Irene sadly wants 
her governess, and I must tell you that I am 
anxious myself that she should resume her stu- 
dies.” 

“ I can not possibly do without Martha this 
morning,” answered his wife ; “ have you forgot- 
ten Madame de rOrtal’s ball to-morrow night ?” 

“ But surely you do not want a whole morn- 
ing, to try bn a new dress?” 

“ What do you know about that ?” 

“ At any rate, my dear, can not you ask the 


THE BETTER PART. 


49 


advice of Madame Dumont and Mademoiselle 
Berth6 ?” 

“ And do you suppose that it is either Ma- 
dame Dumont or Mademoiselle Berthe that can 
suggest the charming combinations which of late 
have attracted such flattering notice, even from 
yourself ?’' 

‘‘ Come, Laura dear, be reasonable ; I wish 
Irene to work hard. You have time enough at 
odd moments to consult Mademoiselle Martha.” 

“ This is intolerable !” said the countess. 

You are quite a tyrant, monsieur ! you see that 
I am scarcely dressed, and that I can not do with- 
out Martha.” 

I assure you, Laura,” said the count, with 
a twinkle in his eye, “ that a ribbon more or less 
can not add to your charms. You look uncom- 
monly well as you are, and I think can not im- 
prove upon yourself.” 

Indeed !” said the countess,, somewhat mol- 
lified, “ is this your opinion too, Martha ? 

“Yes, madame, it is; and I shall now ask 
leave to retire.” 

“ I am forced to give you up ; but remember, 
if any thing goes wrong, I shall s'end for you 
again.” 

The count bowed to Martha as they left the 
room together. 

Since there is nothing deeply interesting in 


50 THE BETTER PART. 

the conversation of the countess and her trades- ' 
women, we will pass it over and listen instead to 
that of the count with his daughter’s gover- 


ness. 


VII. 


If you have no objection, I should like to 
be present at Irene’s lessons,” said the count, as 
he followed Martha to her own apartment. I 
am most impatient to see my daughter resume 
the course of her preliminary studies. She is 
now eleven, and it is time to rouse her mind. 
Her temper is gentle and docile, she has no 
frivolous tastes, and I should therefore be most 
happy, mademoiselle, to see you apply all your 
energies to the development of her good qualities 
and the guidance of those intellectual leanings 
which I discover in her.” 

“ Believe me, monsieur, I will not neglect to 
do so. She is very serious for her age, and only 
too eager to work.” 

It is just for this very reason, mademoiselle, 
that I would beg of you, partly from compliance 
with mj^ wishes, partly in the interests of your 
pupil, to avoid as much as possible my wife’s 
importunities to accompany her in her shopping 
excursions. Such visits are a great loss of time 
for Irene, and the child has been too long ne- 


5 ^ 


THE BETTER PART. 


glected. Let us both try to remedy her back- 
wardness, which would be worse than it is, were 
not my child gifted — I say it, putting aside all un- 
due partiality — with more than a common mind.” 

They had reached the school-room, and Irene 
rushed forward, throwing herself on her father’s 
neck. 

“ How kind of you, papa ! Y ou kept your 
word. Oh ! thank you !” 

Then turning to her governess, she said, I 
must kiss you, too, mademoiselle. I was so 
sorry when I thought you would not come back.” 

Martha coldly kissed the child’s forehead, 
and sat down to begin her instructions. The 
lesson was a long one, and Monsieur de Kerbriant 
took care to listen in perfect silence, with his 
whole mind bent on the subject before him. 
When it was over, he put a few questions to the 
governess, regarding her method of teaching. 
As Martha’s knowledge was not extensive, she 
did not impress the count very favorably in her 
answers to his examination. 

He was a just and sensible man, and was not 
disposed to judge her by this first impression. 
She might be shy ; but he would wait, and 
meanwhile watch her narrowly, he thought ; 
since his wife, on whom this task should 
naturally have devolved, cared only for Martha 
as a supplementary lady’s-maid. 


THE BETTER PART. 


53 


Irene, dear,” he said to his daughter, “ I 
shall come and assist at your lessons every day ; 
it will be a great pleasure to me to follow my 
dear child’s progress.” Then turning to Martha, 
he said courteously, “ Do not fear, mademoiselle, 
that I shall interfere with your method in the 
slightest degree. I wish to be a mere look- 
er-on.” 

Martha bowed slightly, then turned away to 
conceal her vexation — a vain task, however ; and 
Irene, clinging to her father’s arm, as she caper- 
ed away and smiled a farewell to her governess, 
said coaxingly, 

“ If you are pleased with me, papa, come and 
tell me all about some of your beautiful old pic- 
tures ; you are so proud of them, you know.” 

“What an odious supervision!” cried Martha, 
as soon as she found herself alone. Shall I 
submit to such interrogations at any time he 
chooses ? Impossible ! I would rather undergo 
all Madame de Kerbriant’s impertinence, and 
more. Ah 1” she went on, speaking to herself, 
“ it is thus I am to be treated ; with disdain by 
the countess, with condescension or mistrust by 
the count. Very well; but I am not going to 
submit to this tamely. ‘ A white dress is a very 
suitable toilette for a governess,’ says my lady. 
But I shall take care that the governess shall 
appear so handsome that the countess will sicken 


54 


THE BETTER PART. 


with envy to see it. I know how to make the 
most of what little I have. I can prove that 
riches alone do not confer beauty or distinction, 
and that the most superb toilette only serves to 
show off the physical defects of the wearer.” 

“ You are right, mademoiselle,” said Jane 
insinuatingly, having crept on tiptoe within 
hearing of the imprudent girl. “ Madame’s pre- 
tensions are truly laughable.” 

Martha turned sharply round, rather ashamed 
of having been overheard. 

“ So you were there, Jane ?” she asked. 

“Yes, mademoiselle, I came to offer you my 
services, if you have any little preparations to 
make for to-morrow. Madame has just gone to 
bed, saying she has a bad headache. I know 
better ; she wants to regain her good looks, and 
this is but a pretext. This morning, she thought 
her complexion looked rather sallow, and she 
fancies that two days’ perfect rest will restore a 
bloom that is, in truth, gone forever. My time 
is my own, therefore ; so I came to see if you 
wanted me.” 

“ Thank you. I shall be very glad of your 
help. Let us set to work ; we shall be more 
comfortable in my bedroom.” 

It was not long before Martha, whose taste 
was singularly good, had with Jane’s help ar- 
ranged a very pretty costume ; but she found it 


THE BETTER PART. 


55 


impossible in the mean while not to gossip about 
her personal grievances. The lady’s-maid, see- 
ing her opportunity, made the most of it, encou- 
raged Martha’s confidences, by herself narrating 
cleverly-chosen bits of gossip about her mistress, 
and conveyed the impression that she was devot- 
ed, heart and soul, to the interests of the young 
teacher. 

The truth of the matter was that Jane, who 
had at first possessed her mistress’s whole confi- 
dence, had found herself ousted from her post 
of favorite, since Martha’s arrival in the family 
mansion, and was now determined to take the 
first opportunity of regaining her former influ- 
ence. She saw to what excellent use the girl’s 
imprudent words might be put, and, to gain her 
end, had neglected no sign of affectionate impor- 
tunity toward the governess, whom she treated 
for a while with the same consideration as if she 
had been the Countess de Kerbriant. 

Deluded by appearances, and dazzled by the 
friendship which the countess professed toward 
her, Martha had greeted Jane’s advances in good 
faith, sometimes kindly, sometimes rather super- 
ciliously, as a homage due to her. Thus she had 
even envenomed the hatred which the treache- 
rous maid bore her, and the latter only waited in 
vindictive impatience for a propitious moment in 
which to betray her. 


VIIL 


Martha spent the following day in feverish 
expectation. She thought the evening would 
never come. 

When Monsieur de Kerbriant, according to 
his promise, assisted once more at his daughter’s 
lessons, he had reason to be still less satisfied than 
the previous day with the young governess’s way 
of discharging her duties. He seriously asked 
himself whether he ought in conscience to leave 
his child in such incompetent hands ; but, un- 
willing to come to a hasty or ill-considered deci- 
sion, he again resolved to watch Martha more 
narrowly than ever. So the poor girl, without 
knowing it, was under the rigorous surveillance 
of two persons, whose interest in her arose from 
very different motives. The count, in his anxiety 
for his child, longed to assure himself of Made- 
moiselle Delmas’s fitness to counteract, by her 
good example, the fatal influence which he feared 
the countess’s frivolity might have, sooner or 
later, on Irene’s impressionable nature. If she 
had escaped it hitherto, it was, he thought, only 


THE BETTER PART. 


57 


through the natural purity of her character. 
Jane, on the other hand, was treasuring up in her 
memory every little inadvertence of which, in 
time, she could make use to ruin the person 
whom she chose to consider as her supplanter in 
Madame de Kerbriant’s good graces. 

At seven o’clock the countess called Martha, 
rang for her maid, and began to dress. This 
operation was both slow and long, for two days’ 
rest had unluckily failed to restore the bloom of 
youth to her cheek ; and she insisted upon visit- 
ing this lack of success on her unfortunate ser- 
vants, whom she accused of taking no pains to 
make her look well, despite her laces and dia- 
monds. 

After three hours of miserable dawdling, of 
pinning and unpinning, and shifting ribbons and 
bows, Martha was left free to think of her own 
dress. 

Don’t be long, mind,” said the countess. I 
hate waiting.” 

Mademoiselle Delmas rather flew than ran to 
her room. “ At last,” she thought, ‘‘ we shall see 
who will lord it to-night.” She soon improvised 
a lovely fancy head-dress, and hastily put on her 
plain white dress ; then, casting a glance of admi- 
ration at herself as she passed her mirror, she 
returned to her patroness. 

The maid, notwithstanding her jealousy, could 


58 


THE BETTER PART. 


not repress a cry of genuine admiration. Martha 
was, in truth, charmingly lovely. 

Her magnificent fair hair, with blue ribbon 
plaited into it, was rolled, diadem-fashion, round 
her small head ; her large black eyes, lit up by 
the expectation of making a ‘‘ hit,” were abso- 
lutely radiant ; her cheeks wore the most becom- 
ing and vivid carnation ; while her graceful figure 
seemed more willowy than ever to-night. Her 
muslin skirt was trimmed with tulle and blue 
ribbons, like those in her hair; and her little 
white shoes had blue rosettes to match. 

It would have been impossible to surpass 
such a charming ensemble ; and for a moment 
Madame de Kerbriant’s vexation almost made 
her think of staying at home, rather than invite 
public attention to such a contrast as existed 
between her and Martha. Her vanity, however, 
got the better of her, and whispered that no one 
would dream of noticing a governess : this it was 
that decided her, and she started for the ball. 

Martha took her place in the carriage with the 
count and countess. The latter took care to 
expatiate on the modesty with which she ought 
to behave at the ball, and on the propriety of 
keeping herself in the background, and not seek- 
ing to attract the attention of the great people 
she would meet. This followed from her posi- 
tion, said Madame de Kerbriant, who had hardly 


THE BETTER PART. 


59 


finished her lecture when the carriage drew up 
at Madame de TOrtaFs door. 

Martha’s entrance into the drawing-room was 
a true ovation. There were many lovely and 
charming girls among the guests, but Martha 
Delmas outshone them all. Her beauty had never 
suffered from the fatiguing round of worldly 
pleasures, and her manner as well as her com- 
plexion was freshness itself. She had grown up 
in the healthy atmosphere of the life which Marie 
had secured to her. Another great charm was 
the contrast between her jet-black eyes and her 
fair hair ; while, to crown all, the very simplicity 
and exquisite taste of her toilette, and her finished 
and courtly' manners, gave her an indescribable 
superiority over every one present. 

Madame de Kerbriant had rather liked the idea 
of introducing her protegee into society ; but she 
had not reckoned upon bringing in a rival to 
carry off the homage to which she was accus- 
tomed, and to share with her the circle of admi- 
rers with which she loved to surround herself. 
She had once been handsome, and would have it 
that she was so still, in spite of the lapse of time. 
Her feelings can be easily imagined when she 
perceived Martha, amid a knot of importunate 
admirers, enter with perfect self-possession into 
the dance ; and, by her wit, her beauty, and her 
charm, draw all eyes to herself. The young girl, 


6o 


THE BETTER PART. 


meanwhile, absorbed in this novel pleasure, failed 
to notice the look of rage that settled on the 
countess’s face ; or, if she noticed it, it only en- 
hanced her delight. 

Madame de Kerbriant had many enemies 
among her own sex; women who, less favored 
than herself with regard either to beauty or to 
wealth, had often had to put up with her exagge- 
rated pretensions or her ill-natured remarks. 
These ladies were quick to read her embittered 
heart ; and, in order to render her discomfiture 
complete, hastened to enter into conversation 
with her. 

“ Are you ill to-night, dear countess ? or what 
makes you so pale ?” asked a dark, skinny little 
woman dressed in a conspicuous rose-colored 
costume ; or is it this green brocade that pro- 
duces this effect ? I only hint at this through my 
sincere friendship for you. You really should 
avoid such glaring colors.” 

One should learn a little moderation at your 
age,” croaked an old lady nearly sixty, with a 
long, sharp nose. 

‘‘ I think, countess, that the cut of your corsage 
is rather too juvenile.” 

Without reckoning the fact that your bare 
shoulders show that you have grown terribly thin 
of late,” echoed another old hag, whose bones 
seemed coming through her skin. 


THE BETTER PART. 


6l 


“ Do tell us where you picked up that charm- 
ing young girl you brought here with you,” said 
the first speaker. What a delightful counte- 
nance and dazzling expression ! She can wear 
any thing ; no dress, however extravagant or in 
bad taste, can take any thing from her beauty.” 

‘‘ And she can defy all fashions,” said the wo- 
man with the sharp nose, “ or adopt them at will, 
even those least calculated to show off the figure 
to advantage. I never saw any thing like her 
manner and her distinguished bearing.” 

“ And without being too fat,” said the thin 
lady, “ her embonpoint is just what is needed to 
make her figure perfect.” 

Madame de Kerbriant, tortured by these ill- 
natured remarks, was half-choked with rage. 
The' conspirators coolly watched the result 
of their shafts, and secretly triumphed in their 
success. 

It is very kind of you, ladies,” at length said 
the wretched woman, to take so much interest 
in a poor young governess whom I rescued from 
the poverty in which she was plunged.” 

“ Oh ! every one knows how kind-hearted you 
are,” said a fourth lady, well-known for her sar- 
castic wit. 

This was too much for Madame de Kerbriant, 
and, vexed beyond measure, she rose to go across 
to Madame de I’Ortal, who was one of her most 


62 


THE BETTER PART. 


intimate friends, and to whom she now confided 
her intention of leaving at once. 

What, so soon ?” cried the baroness. 

“ I don’t feel very well,” answered the coun- 
tess ; “ will you kindly send for my husband ?” 

“ He has just sat down to a game of whist ; he 
will be vexed,” commented the baroness, as she 
gave the required order. 

I can not help it ; I am too ill,” said Madame 
de Kerbriant, darting a malignant look at Mar- 
tha, who was just passing by her in the mazes of 
the dance. Madame de I’Ortal followed her 
friend’s glance. 

“ Be candid for once, Laura,” she said ; it is 
this young girl’s success, is it not, that is the 
cause of your sudden indisposition ?” 

^^You are my oldest friend, Blanche, and I 
will conceal nothing from you. I do think the 
little artful thing has shamefully abused my kind- 
ness. She turns my very condescension into a 
source of humiliation to myself ; but it shall not 
go on, she shall see that a poor and nameless 
governess can not, with impunity, aspire beyond 
her position.” 

Monsieur de Kerbriant had obeyed his wife’s 
summons. 

“Are you really very unwell, Laura?” he 
asked. 

“ How can you ask me such a question ? I 


THE BETTER PART. 63 

want to go at once. Please look for Martha and 
tell her we are going home.” 

The dance was just over; the count went up 
to Mademoiselle Delmas and gave her his wife’s 
message. She could not help exclaiming, 

What ! already ?” But there was no help for 
it, and, crossing the room on Monsieur de Ker- 
briant’s arm, she went out amid the admiring 
looks of the young men, and the smiles of the 
girls with whom she had made friends. Madame 
de Kerbriant had already preceded them down- 
stairs ; she never once spoke to the governess 
during the homeward drive, but stopped for a 
moment at the door of her own room, to say in a 
cold and snappish tone, 

I shall have something to say to you to-mor- 
row, mademoiselle.” 

With these words she slammed the door to 
and disappeared, while Martha quietly regained 
her room. She was a little surprised at the coun- 
tess’s violence, but, sitting down before the large 
mirror in her drawing-room, she reviewed the 
events of the evening, and came to a very natu- 
ral conclusion. 

Madame de Kerbriant is evidently jealous of 
me,” she thought ; “ she had not anticipated that 
I should eclipse her in society. Well, I was ad- 
mired to-night, and it is delightful to hear one’s 
beauty praised !” 


64 


THE BETTER PART. 


These meditations long occupied the girl’s 
mind, and the result which might possibly follow 
to-morrow’s threatened explanation seemed to 
fade entirely from her memory. 


IX. 


Mademoiselle Delmas only saw the count 
and Irene next day. The countess was ill and 
her maid could not leave her. Monsieur de 
Kerbriant’s demeanor was as courteous and seri- 
ous as usual, and not a word was spoken relative 
to last night’s entertainment. When he left the 
school-room, Martha tried to get some informa- 
tion from Irene, but the child had not seen her 
mother, and the governess was forced to wait 
for the news she was now so anxious to get. 
Several days went bydn the same fashion : Ma- 
dame de Kerbriant never left her room, or at 
least Mademoiselle Delmas was refused access to 
it. Her loneliness made her turn momentarily 
to thoughts of her sister, and the result was the 
following letter, which we copy in full. 

“Paris, December 5, 1851. 

“ I fear, dear Marie, that you still think me 
very negligent. I assure you you are wrong. 

I have so much to do that I find scarcely any 
time at my own disposal. To-day I have a little 


66 


THE BETTER PART. 


breathing-time, which I devote to you, and since 
you wish it, I will tell you both my little trou- 
bles and my pleasures, though you will easily 
perceive that the latter more than counterbalance 
the former. 

‘‘ Monsieur de Kerbriant is still as kind as ever, 
but he worries me sometimes, as he thinks very 
highly of his daughter’s talents, and wants me 
therefore to develop in her imaginary qualities, 
which in reality I find non-existent. He has got 
into the habit of being present during lessons 
and of examining my method almost every day. 
This is very annoying, for I fancy Irene sees 
through her father’s distrust of me ; she often 
questions me boldly herself. If I do not answer 
at once, I see the count frown and get fidgety. 
Of course, I take no notice, but I am on the look- 
out to find some means of putting a stop to this 
annoyance. 

Such are my troubles. Now let us speak of 
my pleasures. I went to a ball last week, at the 
Baroness de I’Ortal’s house. If Madame de Ker- 
briant could have foreseen the success I was 
destined to have, I am sure she would have made 
me decline the invitation, 

^‘My dress was lovely, white trimmed with 
tulle and blue ribbons. I can say with truth that 
few girls of my age could come up to me that 
night, and I was soon assailed by crowds of ad- 


THE BETTER PART. 


67 


mirers. Among* my most assiduous partners, I 
noticed one young man of very distinguished 
appearance who was perpetually hovering round 
me. He asked me during a quadrille which we 
danced together, what was my position in Ma- 
dame de Kerbriant’s house. When I told him 
that 1 was only a governess, he said courteous- 
ly, ‘ I am afraid you must find such a life a very 
dependent one, mademoiselle, especially with a 
woman of the countess’s temper. You deserve a 
better fate.’ 

* When fortune is wanting,’ I answered, * one 
can not expect much consideration, and still less 
an independent position.’ 

“ But,’ he said gallantly, * have you not those 
perfections that stand in lieu of fortune ! ’ 

“ I said nothing, and as the dancq was over, the 
young man took me back to my seat. I was 
dancing again with him when Monsieur de Ker- 
briant came to fetch me ; we had hardly been at 
the ball two hours, but this is what had happened. 

The countess, in her vexation at my success, 
had made believe to be ill, and ordered her car- 
riage. I was forced to go, but the disappoint- 
ment was almost made up for by the look of re- 
gret that overspread my partner’s countenance. 

“ How charming he seemed, Marie ! I can not 
help thinking of him ; my fancy pictures him as 
present. I do not even know his name, but I re- 


68 


THE BETTER PART. 


gret him. If only Jane, the lady’s-maid, who not 
long ago was in Madame de I’Ortal’s service, 
and must know all the baroness’s guests by sight, 
could tell me ; but she is pinned to the countess’s 
sick-bed, and I am left to my fancy, to invent a 
name for him ! 

I think I saw him go up to Madame de I’Or- 
tal, the very moment I left the room. He spoke 
to her excitedly, and looked over in my direction. 
I hardly dare dwell on such thoughts, and yet 
every thing seems to point to them. I even fan- 
cied that I heard his voice yesterday, as I cross- 
ed the passage leading by Monsieur de Ker- 
briant’s study. I listened involuntarily, and 
thought I caught my own name. But why 
should this be true ! No doubt this man is rich, 
and would not dream of me, though his form 
haunts my fancy. 

I meant to write you a long letter, dear sis- 
ter, and now I find I have forgotten all I wanted 
to say. Remember me kindly to Monsieur Sur- 
ville. I do not write to him because his letter 
grieved me ; he overwhelms me with reproaches 
which I do not feel as if I deserved, and I Could 
not answer him in a right spirit. 

“ I will not scold you, dear Marie, for your 
suspicions of me, and I kiss you with all my 
heart. Your affectionate sister, 

''Martha Delmas.” 


THE BETTER PART. 


69 


The letter was scarcely finished when Jane 
came in, saying, 

“ Madame wishes to see you at once, ma- 
demoiselle,” 

“ What is the matter ?” 

I hardly know. Madame de I’Ortal is there ; 
she has been closeted for an hour with the count 
and countess. I am sure they were talking about 
you.” 

“ Did the countess still look angry with me, 
Jane?” 

I will come this evening, mademoiselle, and 
tell you all I know ; but do not keep the baroness 
waiting now.” 

Martha went down with a beating heart to 
the boudoir ; but if possible, her agitation only 
enhanced her beauty. 


X. 


Let us go back to Marie, and imagine our- 
selves at the end of January, 1852. If we had 
taken a walk about that time through the 
Rue d’Estree, in the town of Rennes, we should 
have come upon a pretty little shop with green 
shutters, bearing a device, as is the custom in 
France, which ran, “ Honesty is the best policy.” 
This was Madame Dalbau’s shop, the dress-maker 
who had formerly engaged Marie as seamstress. 

Madame Dalbau had not been slow to find out 
the young girl’s good qualities, and had derived 
great benefit from her willing help, as Marie had 
perfect taste and worked like a fairy. She never 
lost a moment’s time ; one would have thought 
that the work slid through her fingers, so deftly 
and quickly was it finished. 

The dress-maker had long been a widow, and 
had an only son, who, at the time we speak of, 
was about twenty-three years of age. Lucien had 
from his boyhood understood the necessity of 
hard work, and had therefore chosen the trade of 
a cabinet-maker. Though not a very lucrative 


THE BETTER PART. 


71 


occupation in his native town, it had en- 
abled him to support himself, especially as his 
tastes were simple to frugality, and as he care- 
fully shunned all dissipation and social excite- 
ments. A true artist, he had sent various speci- 
mens of his own carving to several exhibitions, 
and had carried off prizes and medals, so that he 
had fair ground to hope for ultimate success in 
his business. 

His mother, having long ago ceased to sup- 
port Lucien, had saved a considerable sum, and 
put it out to interest ; her numerous customers 
had always been among the most wealthy and 
distinguished people of Rennes, and the good 
woman had serious thoughts of retiring from 
business in order to enjoy the fruits of her thrifti- 
ness, when Marie came to solicit an engagement. 
After two years, Madame Dalbau, seeing all the 
young girl’s good, reliable qualities, did not 
fear to propose a partnership. Although Marie’s 
aptitude had reconciled her to her trade again, 
she yet thought the time must soon come when 
she really would feel obliged to give up the re- 
sponsibility, and she knew no one so suited to the 
place of her successor as her work-woman Marie 
Delmas. A partnership was therefore temporari- 
ly concluded. The Abbe Surville whose advice 
was dutifully asked, strongly urged Marie to ac- 
cept such an unhoped-for offer, and by the middle 


72 


THE BETTER PART. 


of November, 1851, Madame Dalbau left her 
work-shop to open a regular emporium of fashion. 
The partners now occupied the same house. 
Marie, however, did not leave her little garret 
without a pang. 

There she had lived with her sister, and still 
fancied that Martha’s spirit haunted the room ; 
there too she had known old Yvonne, who had 
been so kind and motherly to her, and with whom 
in her prosperity she would not part. Madame 
Dalbau, delighted with Marie’s gratitude toward 
the poor woman, offered her a room in her 
house. All things having thus been satisfac- 
torily arranged. Mademoiselle Delmas gave her- 
self up to the care of the new shop. She saw in 
its success a means of comfortable living for her- 
self and a possible haven for Martha, should she 
come to need it. 

Madame Dalbau ’s custom grew even more 
extended under the young partner’s management, 
and the shop with the device, “ Honesty is the 
best policy,” became the most fashionable in 
Rennes. We have said that January was draw- 
ing to an end. The weather was cold and foggy ; 
the stove in the work-room was singing with a 
pleasant noise, suggestive of warmth and com- 
fort. The sewing-girls were all at work, and 
Marie, brandishing a huge pair of scissors, was 
just about to cut out a velvet mantle. She was 


THE BETTER PARI'. 


73 


still the same lovable young girl we have seen 
before, and her new responsibility seemed to have 
shed more earnestness over her countenance, 
without taking from it any of its old kindness. 

“ Will you pass the thread, please. Miss Rosa?” 
said a pretty little apprentice of Iwelve years old. 

“ Look for it yourself, my dear ; I am in a 
hurry.” 

“ Oh ! I see it. Here it is right in front of me.” 

You^are so careless !” 

“ And you are so disobliging ; always afraid 
of being inconvenienced.” 

“ What do you mean, miss ? you are getting 
impudent.” 

“ Miss Rosa fancies,” said another girl, that 
no one should speak to her but with the greatest 
respect.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said the mischievous little girl 
who had spoken first, “ as if she were Madame 
Dalbau or Mademoiselle Marie.” 

“ Do you know, Martha,” said a girl of the 
name of Constance, ^‘that Mademoiselle Marie 
would scold you if she heard you ?” 

“ Oh ! no, indeed. Mademoiselle Marie is too 
fond of me for that. I am very cold,” added the 
child, laughing ; Miss Rosa, give me your place 
by the stove, and please let me warm myself a 
little.” 

“ Oh ! I dare say,” dryly answered Rosa ; 


74 


THE BETTER PART. 


“ the stove warms the whole room sufficiently. 
Stay where you are ; I am not going to move for 
your convenience.” 

“ O dear! O dear! I am so cold !” willfully 
cried Martha, as she began to sob. 

This little altercation had been carried on 
tolerably loud ; but Marie, absorbed in her own 
thoughts, had taken no notice. The real (or 
feigned) sobs that shook the little girl’s frame 
roused her, and running to her, she took the child 
in her arms. 

“ What is the matter ? Who has been vexing 
you, dear ?” she asked. 

It is Rosa, who will not let me go near the 
stove.” 

“ Do not believe her, mademoiselle,” said the 
work-woman ; “ she presumes on your partiality 
for her, and wants to tyrannize over us all, on the 
strength of it.” 

Marie did not answer, but drawing up two 
chairs, sat down upon one, and, putting Martha on 
the other, began mildly to lecture her. Madame 
Dalbau happened to come in just then, in quest 
of a cloak. 

“Is Madame Seibert’s mantle cut out?” she 
asked. 

“Yes,” said Marie, “get it ready, Constance.” 

“Ah!” smiled the elder woman, “you are 
petting your little Martha,” 


i 


THE BETTER PART. 75 

Petting her and scolding her at the same 
time ; she is getting naughty.” 

“ O fie ! that would be very wrong. Martha, 
child, you would not grieve Mademoiselle Marie?” 

No, indeed, madame,'” said the little girl, “ I 
will not be so willful again. I mean to work with 
all my might to please you and mademoiselle, for 
I love you both.” 

Madame Dalbau and Marie kissed the en- 
gaging child, and after a few kind words to the 
sewing-girls, and an especial recommendation to 
Rosa to be gentle and obliging, they went down 
together into the shop. 


% 


/ 


XL 


I AM afraid,” said Madame Dalbau, “ that you 
spoil your protigee a little.” 

I can not help it, madame ; I love that child 
so, that I lose all firmness with her. She reminds 
me of my sister, whose name she bears ; and when 
I see her with her long fair curls, I almost cheat 
myself into the belief that it is my Martha her- 
self who stands before me.” 

But suppose she should get lazy through 
your indulgent petting, and even not repay your 
affection ?” 

Oh ! do not try to dispel my illusions con- 
cerning her,” said Marie, with tears in her eyes. 

I should like that child to owe every thing to 
me, and to give me a place in her heart in return 
for my care of her.” 

I hope she will, Marie ; you deserve it. Is it 
not a long time since you heard from your sis- 
ter?” 

“ A little over a month. Her last letter was 
dated the 28th of December. Very likely her 
next may announce her approaching marriage. 


THE BETTER PART. 


77 


She tells me that she has met the young man who 
was so fascinated by her at her first ball, many 
times since.” 

“ I do not remember that letter ; your sister 
writes so seldom. Will you show it to me ?” 

“ Here it is,” said Marie, drawing the beloved 
missive from her pocket-book, and Madame Dal- 
bau read it in a loud whisper. It ran thus : 


“ Paris, December 28, 1851. 

“ My Dear Marie : I have much to tell you — 
things which make me very happy; and though I 
know nothing for certain, I have every reason to 
believe that my hopes are well founded. You 
remember I told you in my last letter that I fan- 
cied I had caught my own name pronounced in 
Monsieur de Kerbriant’s study. I was not mis- 
taken. The count was closeted with the Baron- 
ess de rOrtal’s godson. Monsieur Alberic Bel- 
mont, the same whom I met at the ball. 

“ I must tell you all from the beginning, so 
that you may understand. 

You know how disgusted Madame de Kerb ri- 
ant was at my success at Madame de TOrtal’s 
house. I did not see her for several days after that, 
and it was just as I was finishing my last letter that 
Jane came to call me to the countess’s boudoir, 
at her request and Madame de TOrtal’s. The_ 


78 


THE BETTER PART. 


former received me very curtly, hardly deigning 
to notice my inquiries after her health. Mon- 
sieur de Kerb riant was gravely courteous, as is 
his wont, and the baroness was affectionate and 
welcoming. 

“ We talked for a long time : then she asked me 
to play and sing. My performance delighted her, 
and in truth I had never played so well. What 
more shall I say ? 

She came back several times with her godson. 
Monsieur Belmont, who always appeared my de- 
voted slave ; and I was asked in return to accom- 
pany the count and countess to four or five in- 
formal parties at Madame de TOrtal’s house. 
She evidently likes me very much. 

‘‘ If I were not so certain that Monsieur Belmont 
means to sue for my hand in marriage, I should 
be very miserable; for Madame de Kerbriant 
treats me with supreme contempt, and can not 
understand how a poor governess can occupy 
the time and thoughts of these high-born, weal- 
thy people. I bear this very quietly, for I hope 
not to be subject to her scorn much longer. 
Three days more, and the old year will be out. 

I must wish you a happy New- Year, dear Marie, 
and may it bring you happiness and content- 
ment. 

‘‘ I dare not write to the Abb6 Surville. I have 
delayed too long since his last. Give him my 


THE BETTER TART. 


79 


kind regards and the compliments of the sea- 
son. 

Your affectionate sister, 

Martha Delmas.” 

“Did you answer her?” asked Madame Dal- 
bau, when she had finished reading Martha’s 
long letter. 

“ Only by a few words,” said Marie. “ My 
quiet life could not interest my sister much. 
Still I did not like to let New-Year’s Day go by 
without sending her a message of love.” And hav- 
ing searched her pocket-book, Marie added, 

“ Here is a copy of my letter to her.” 

“Rennes, December 31, 1851. 

“ Dearest Martha : The new year begins to- 
morrow. May every wish of my heart be grati- 
fied in your favor, and you will be happy. 

“ A fortunate change has occurred in my life. 
If I had not been so busy I should have men- 
tioned it before this. Madame Dalbau was kind 
enough to think that, notwithstanding my youth 
and want of experience, I might be of some use 
to her as her partner, and since November I have 
occupied this position in the shop she has opened 
on the Rue d’Estree. We have been at work only 
two months, and yet the profits are already per- 
ceptible. I hope this will go on, and certainly it 


8o 


THE BETTER PART. 


will not be either my good-will or my courage 
that will fail me in the attempt. 

The sewing-girls’ department falls especially 
to my share. I have a little favorite among the 
younger apprentices ; she is twelve years old, and 
her name is Martha. Her features bear a certain 
likeness to those of my beloved sister, and the re- 
semblance is heightened by her splendid fair 
curls. Since I can not be with you, this child 
cheats me out of the grief our separation will al- 
ways cause me. 

“ Darling Martha, I can not say what I suffer ' 
when I think of you. Do tell me that you still 
love me ; and though we are so far apart, send me 
a kiss as loving as that which I send to you. 

“ Your loving sister, 


Marie.’* 


XIL 


About the end of January, the Abbe Surville 
received the following letter from the Count de 
Kerbriant, and immediately submitted it to 
Marie : 

“ Paris, January 27, 1852. 

Reverend Sir : I have learnt that you have 
always been a devoted friend to the two young 
Delmas girls, and that the fate of the eldest sis- 
ter has been a special cause of anxiety to you, 
this young lady having evinced tastes very much 
beyond her original station in life. ' 

“ An opportunity, that will probably not occur 
a second time, has presented itself to dispose of 
Mademoiselle Martha in a perfectly suitable man- 
ner. Her rare beauty has fascinated a young 
man who is the godson of Madame de I’Ortal, one 
of our oldest friends. 

“ Monsieur Belmont is quite unexceptionable 
as a suitor. I have carefully inquired into his 
character, and every thing tells in his favor. His 
fortune amounts to about four hundred thousand 
francs, a quarter of which he proposes to settle 
on his future wife. 


82 


THE BETTER PART. 


“ Mademoiselle Delmas has begged for a short 
delay, that she may consider the proposal ; but 
she is certain to accept it. I wished, meanwhile, 
to tell you of it and ask your advice. 

I think Mademoiselle Martha will most likely 
benefit by the change. She is eminently unfitted 
for the post of governess. I shall be very glad 
to be spared the painful task of telling her the 
truth ; but in case this marriage had not relieved 
my perplexity, I should have been in duty bound 
to watch over my daughter’s interests, which 
would have been injured by any continuance of 
the neglect with which Mademoiselle Delmas 
treats Irene’s studies. 

“ I say again that I believe this marriage with 
Monsieur Belmont will, by giving her the luxury 
she desires, modify and ennoble her nature ; and 
if her husband possesses any strength of cha- 
racter, he will know how to restrain her caprices, 
and to show her the serious side of life. I hope 
that under these circumstances Mademoiselle 
Martha will be happy. 

I remain, reverend sir, 

“ Yours sincerely, 

'‘Albert de Kerbriant.” 

The priest answered this letter by begging the 
count to use his own judgment regarding Mar,- 
tha, and to do his best to secure her happiness in 


THE BETTER PART. 


83 


this proposed marriage. He wished to admonish 
the young girl of the duties of her new state ; 
but Martha hardly glanced at her reverend 
friend’s letter : she had other things to attend to, 
indeed. For instance, the trousseau chosen by 
the Baroness de I’Ortal — for Martha cared for 
nothing except her husband’s wealth, his finished 
manner and high-bred appearance. Monsieur 
Belmont, so amiable, so gallant, could not fail to 
make a good husband ! 

She remembered her sister — not that she 
might ask her to come and stay with her now 
that she herself was rich, but that she might have 
the pleasure of dazzling her with a description of 
her trousseau and the splendor of her wedding 
ceremony. 

One thing only she forgot, namely, to ask her 
sister to be present. Marie, the poor girl, would 
be quite out of her accustomed sphere among the 
many great ladies who would press round the 
beautiful bride ! So Martha contented herself 
with writing the following short note : 

“Paris, February 10, 1852. 

“ I was not mistaken, dear Marie ; I am really 
going to be married. Madame de I’Ortal herself 
asked Madame de Kerbriant for her permission 
to offer me the hand of Monsieur Belmont. I ac- 
cepted the proposal after a day or two to think 


84 


THE BETTER PART. 


it over. What was there to object to ? No- 
thing, indeed. 

Monsieur Belmont is the son of an old stew- 
ard of Madame de TOrtal’s father. She is his 
godmother, and loves him as much as if he were 
her own son. He has a fortune of four hundred 
thousand francs, and he has settled a hundred 
thousand on me. We signed the settlement yes- 
terday. The countess actually unbent a little, 
and even condescended to give a small party. 

“ Monsieur Belmont sent me a magnificent 
trousseau ; * nothing was wanting — cashmere 
shawls, laces, and jewelry, and a lovely porte- 
monnaie full of pin-money. 

“ The wedding is to take place at the Church 
of St. Thomas Aquinas, on the 15th inst. At last 
I take leave of the annoyances of a dependent 
life and the fear of underhand dealings ; for I 
found out that Jane, whom I fancied devoted to 
me, was secretly imbittering the countess’s mind 
against me. 

“ From henceforth I shall be free, rich, and 
beloved : as I said once before, God has truly 
given me the better part. You ask me for a really 
affectionate kiss : I send you a thousand. 

“ Your loving sister, 

“ Martha.” 


* In France, it is the bridegroom who provides the trousseati. 


THE BETTER PART. 


85 


Marie felt faint as she read this letter ; her 
sobs stifled her, and she threw herself despair- 
ingly into Madame Dalbau’s arms. A violent 
fever soon followed, and she was not herself 
for several days ; but when full consciousness 
returned, and she looked into the kind faces of 
Mother Yvonne, Madame Dalbau, and the Abbe 
Surville, who had come too, she cried out, 
stretching her hands toward her friends, 

“ Ah ! give me your love now ; I need it 
sorely, for I no longer have a sister !” 

It was the very day fixed for Martha’s wed- 
ding. Madame Belmont was taking triumphant 
possession of the pretty little house which her 
husband had carefully furnished according to her 
taste, and whose drawing-rooms were soon filled 
with distinguished guests. 

“ Here, then,” she thought, looking compla- 
cently on her new possessions, “ is the fulfillment 
of the fatal predictions that were once dinned 
into my ears. At least, they have not had the 
power to fetter my choice or shatter my happi- 


ness. 




PART SECOND. 


I. 

The 15th of June, 1852, seemed to be a holiday 
for the sewing-girls of the shop in the Rue d’Es- 
trde. They were all chatting gayly in the work- 
room, and little Martha, the petted favorite, was 
loud in her demonstrations of pleasure. 

“ Yes, I tell you,” she said, “ we are all to go 
out driving.” 

“ Not at all,” said Rosa ; we are coming 
back here for breakfast, after mass.” 

You know nothing about it, Rosa : do you 
think Mademoiselle Marie would have put me 
aside on her wedding-day ? Not only she would 
not part with me, but she has provided for all the 
girls. I know it from a sure source, for Mother 
Yvonne told me that the programme had been 
changed. We are all to go to the wedding and 
the mass ; then, at the church door, carriages will 
meet us and take us out to La Prevalaye, where 
the breakfast will take place.” 


88 


THE BETTER PART. 


“Oh! how nice 1” cried the younger appren- 
tices. “ What fun we shall have !” 

“ I am mad with joy only to think of it,” said 
little Martha. 

“ Mademoiselle Marie is so kind,” said Con- 
stance ; “ she is always thinking of other people’s 
pleasure.” 

“ Indeed, you may say she is kind,” cried all 
the girls with one voice ; “ and we all love her, 
and hope that Monsieur Lucien Dalbau will make 
her very happy.” 

The laughing girls, absorbed in these pleasant 
anticipations of to-morrow’s amusement, forgot 
their work, and busily made a thousand little 
plans of prospective fun. 

Marie now came in, a little altered since we 
saw her last. Graver and older-looking, she had 
lost her cheerful smile, which had given place to 
a certain not unbecoming melancholy. Her face 
seemed more touching than before, and her gen- 
tle, speaking eyes won your interest at once. 

“Well,” she said gently, “ you do not seem to 
be working very hard.” 

“ We were talking of you, mademoiselle, and 
how could we be very industrious ? Let us be 
idle a little, please ; we were only wishing you 
happiness and joy.” 

“We are all so fond of you. Mademoiselle 

Marie,” cried Martha as she threw herself into 

% 


THE BETTER PART. 


89 


her friend’s arms ; and coaxingly added, “ Have 
you come to confirm Yvonne’s good news ? She 
did not make an}^ mistake ?” 

“No, dear child; Yvonne was right. I 
wanted you to remember my wedding-day : you 
are often obliged to forego all enjoyment and keep 
closely to work ; so to-morrow, after you have 
prayed for my happiness, we will go together to 
La Prevalaye. Madame Dalbau is delighted with 
the idea, and Monsieur Lucien has no objection 
to it. We shall spend a pleasant day on the Cas- 
tle lawns ” 

“ Oh ! thank you, thank you, mademoi- 
selle ” 

. “ Wait a little, that is not all,” said Marie. 
“ I wish you to have a more tangibly souvenir 
than that. Listen to me : you know that I was 
a simple working-girl like yourselves; and like 
many of you, I too was an orphan. Then I had 
a sister, who could not bear to be always obliged 
to work. Martha is beautiful, and her beauty 
won her the protection of a noble lady who took 
her to Paris. I remained alone, saddened and 
discouraged, almost envious of my sister’s lot ; 
but I soon regained control over my thoughts, 
and recognized my true mission. Happiness on 
earth consists in fulfilling the destiny which God 
manifestly intends to be yours. Madame Dalbau 
and the Abb6 Surville strengthened me against 


go 


THE BETTER PART. 


my own rebellious thoughts, and I was led to see 
the wisdom of their advice. My poor sister, 
spite of her patroness’s wealth, was not happy ; 
she would not tell me her troubles, but I guessed 
them all. As for me, I was at peace, and my 
happiness would have been complete if only 
Martha could have shared it. The beauty which 
had attracted the notice of Madame de Kerbri- 
ant, helped her to make a rich marriage. Four 
months ago, she became Madame Belmont, and 
enjoys all the luxuries that riches can procure. 
Still, I do not think that she is happy ; so, if you 
love me, you must all pray for her, for she has 
made a mistake in her choice in life. For my 
part, I have trodden the old beaten path, and now, 
thanks to Madame Dalbau’s kindness, I have 
won a good position. To crown all, she now 
wishes me to become her own daughter. I have 
received comfort and encouragement in my path, 
and I want to comfort and encourage you. I 
can not bear to think that any one of you should 
be led into temptation. Keep to your humble 
but secure position, and remember that you all 
have a friend in me. No one that gives me real 
satisfaction shall ever want work ; and for the 
present, since it has pleased God for the last 
eight months to bless my endeavors, I am able 
to offer each of you as a wedding souvenir, a sum 
of a hundred francs in the savings-bank. Take it 


THE BETTER PART. 


91 


as a remembrance of me ; and in your prayers do 
not forget to name Madame Dalbau and her son, 
as well as me and my poor sister.” 

The young girls, overcome with emotion, 
crowded round Marie. Rosa, the eldest, consti- 
tuted herself spokeswoman. 

We can never thank you enough, mademoi- 
selle,” she said ; “ but if our tongues are silent, 
you shall see from our conduct henceforward, 
that we are far from ungrateful, or unworthy of 
your benefits.” 


11 . 


The reader will perceive that Marie was go- 
ing to be married to Madame Dalbau’s son. She 
had resolutely gone back to her work, as soon as 
the sorrow which her sister’s letter had caused 
her had subsided, and Madame Dalbau was soon 
able to leave all the responsibility, both of the 
work-room and the shop, on the shoulders of her 
young partner. Marie was, indeed, an indefati- 
gable worker. 

Her deference and gentleness toward the elder 
woman soon won her the latter’s admiration, 
as well as her sincere friendship. Before the 
partnership had been concluded, Lucien used to 
come every Sunday to pay his mother a weekly 
visit ; but Marie’s modesty and gentleness became 
so powerful an attraction, after she removed to 
his mother’s house, that it was not long before 
he begged Madame Dalbau to speak to Made- 
moiselle Delmas in his favor. 

The mother was delighted ; but she knew 
Marie well, and shrewdly guessed that if her 
plan was to succeed, it was quite necessary to 


THE BETTER PART. 


93 


gain the Abb6 Surville’s co-operation. Lucien 
had been an exemplary son ; and his steady be- 
havior, his simple, domestic tastes, and his eager 
devotedness to his work, combined to make him 
“ a good match.” Marie recognized this, and 
was grateful for his attentions ; still it was not 
without much hesitation that she gave her con- 
sent. She was afraid to contract duties which 
might make it impossible for her to help Martha 
at her need, and she also wished to take charge 
of Yvonne’s old age, as well as to direct the edu- 
cation and life of her little apprentice Martha, 
whom she so tenderly loved for her sister’s sake. 

The Abb6 Surville imparted these intentions 
to Lucien, who answered that any thing which 
would promote Marie’s happiness must be equal- 
ly an object of interest to him. He begged the 
priest to urge upon the young girl to accept his 
advances ; and Marie, thus pressed on all sides, 
yielded at last, to the great delight of her friends. 
It was settled that she should go on superintending 
the shop, while Lucien opened a cabinet-maker’s 
establishment on his own account.- Monsieur 
Dalbau wished the marriage to take place at 
once, but Marie had written to her sister, and 
wanted to wait for an answer, before fixing the 
day for the wedding. 

Six weeks had already gone by, and no an- 
swer had come. Lucien impatiently begged his 


94 


THE BETTER PART. 


betrothed to delay no longer ; and poor Marie, 
saddened by this new proof of her sister’s indif- 
ference, at last consented to fix the i6th of June 
as the auspicious day. How could Martha have 
overlooked the touching appeal which Marie had 
made in writing, and which ran thus ? 

Rennes, April 15, 1852. 

“ Dearest Martha : I have been waiting in 
vain, since your marriage, for some news of you. 
You forget your poor sister, in the luxury and 
the pleasures of your new life. 

But I never forget you, I am going to be 
married, Martha dear, and my future husband is 
Monsieur Lucien Dalbau, a cabinet-maker. Af- 
ter our marriage, he means to open a shop of his 
own. We are neither of us rich, yet our pros- 
pects are good. The custom of our own shop is 
increasing daily, and there is every reason 
to hope that my husband’s will prosper, since 
every one thinks highly both of his energy and 
his excellent workmanship. 

“ Madame Dalbau, who always treated me as 
a daughter, is delighted that I should really be- 
come her child. One thing pleases me above all 
in my future husband’s character : the devoted 
love which he bears his mother. 

“ Nothing would be wanting to my happiness, 
if you could be present at my wedding. Martha, 


THE BETTER PART. 


95 


darling, I have no relations but you : will you 
not let me kiss you once more ? I shall need 
you more than ever on that day. I loA^e you so 
much that I can not hope to be quite happy if 
you do not come. If you would bring your 
husband, I should have the pleasure of knowing 
the man who has become my brother, and whom 
I already love, since he loves my sister. Will 
you refuse my request ? No ; I hope that you 
will come, as I ask you. I shall count the min- 
utes till your arrival. It makes me so happy 
to think that I shall see you again, that I quite 
forget all my past grief, and fancy I have you 
already in my arms. 

We will try and make you forget Paris 
during the time that you will let us keep you. 
Though Madame Dalbau does not know you, 
she loves you for my sake, and begs me to send 
her affectionate regards. Monsieur Dalbau 
would be delighted to know both you and your 
husband. He hopes you will allow him to be 
your friend. 

Monsieur Surville will be charmed to see you 
again, and Mother Yvonne will be so glad to 
shake hands with you once more. We are all 
anxiously expecting you and Monsieur Belmont. 

“ The wedding-day shall be fixed so as not to 
interfere with any of your previous plans. 

« My heart throbs with loving expectation 


96 


THE BETTER PART. 


when I think of my darling Martha. Come 
quick to embrace your poor Marie, and assure 
her of your love : no joy could be greater in my 
estimation. 

Your affectionate sister, 

Marie Delmas.” 

We shall learn later how it was that Martha 
vouchsafed no answer to this loving, sisterly letter. 


III. 


The morning of the i6th of June was radiant 
with summer beauty. Marie had shut herself in 
with Yvonne, and was meditating on the course 
of events which had insensibly led her to the 
solemn act of renunciation which this day 
would see accomplished. Lost in thought, she 
leaned on her little table, and seemed deaf to 
her faithful old friend’s remonstrances. 

Mademoiselle,” said the latter, what makes 
you so sad, just when you are about to be as 
happy as I always wished you to be ? Do answer 
me now : don’t you love Monsieur Lucien, who 
is so kind and good, so hard-working, and so con- 
siderate toward his mother ?” 

You know, Yvonne,” said Marie, shaking off 
her melancholy, “ that no one thinks more highly 
than I do of Monsieur Dalbau’s many excellent 
qualities, and indeed that they alone have decided 
me to accept his hand.” 

“ Then why be so sad this morning, and why 
cry all through the night? I heard you.” 

Please do not mention it, Yvonne. How can 


98 


THE BETTER PART. 


you ask me the reason ? Have you not guessed 
it, or have you forgotten my sister?’' 

“ O your everlasting sister ! Has she com 
descended to remember you since she has be- 
come a countess or a marchioness? It is too 
kind of you to think of her, ungrateful thing ! 
Let her alone, once for all, and don’t think of her 
any more ; she does not deserve it.” 

“ You are too hard, Yvonne. You ought ra- 
ther to try and appease the vexation that I can 
not help feeling against my sister. Martha has 
despised my love ; and when I entreated of her to 
come to my marriage, she did not even answer 
me. Still, 1 must forgive her once more. No 
bad feeling must have a place in my heart to-day, 
when I am about to implore God’s blessing on 
myself and the man whom he has given me for 
my husband.” 

“ You are an angel. Mademoiselle Marie ; you 
will be sure to be happy, never fear. Monsieur 
Lucien is so fond of you.” 

Madame Dalbau came in at this juncture ; and 
going up to Marie, she kissed her, saying, 

Dear child. Monsieur Surville would like to 
see you before mass : will you see him ?” 

“ Of course, of course, mother,” said the bride ; 
“ his visit will comfort me.” 

The priest came in : Marie welcomed him cor- 
dially. 


THE BETTER PART. 


99 


“ It was so good of you to come,” she said ; 
“ you guessed I should want your good advice 
to-day.” 

“ I know, child, that you are peculiarly inge- 
nious in inflicting self-torture on yourself ; and I 
do hope that you will be reasonable to-day, and 
banish from your mind any thoughts foreign to 
the ceremony in which you take part this morn- 
ing.” 

Mother dear,” said Marie, turning to Madame 
Dalbau, who stood anxiously by, “ I have hidden 
nothing from you, believe me : if I am sad, it is 
only the thought of my sister that makes me so. 
I should have been so happy to see her here to- 
day ! But in your presence all other thoughts 
sink into oblivion, and I think only of the joy I 
shall feel in really becoming your daughter.” 

“ Dearest child, I have long called you so in 
my heart,” said Madame Dalbau, wiping away a 
tear. 

I give you my blessing, Marie,” resumed the 
priest; “for before I give it as a priest, I should 
like to impart it as a friend and a father. You 
have been brave in adversity, Marie ; but you 
must never forget those evil days of your youth. 
You are now happy, and I pray this happiness 
rtiay be as lasting as any earthly joy can be ; but 
if sorrow visits you again during your future life, 
think of your past trials, and of the example of 


lOO 


THE BETTER PART. 


your dear mother, whose worthy daughter you 
have shown yourself. If success is yours, do not 
take pride in it ; be modest as before. Love him 
who is going to become your husband, so that, 
each leaning on the other’s strength, you may be 
united till the last moment, and perform together 
the weary pilgrimage of life. Honor her Avho 
has been a mother to you, and who now gives you 
her only son. And should your sister come back 
to you some day, receive her with your heart, 
without any ill-will for the slights she has put 
upon you. I am sure, Marie, that you will not 
forget my advice, and I bless you from the bot- 
tom of my heart.” 

Madame Dalbau and Yvonne, who felt these 
words as much as Marie did, knelt down with 
her to receive the good priest’s blessing. 

“And now,” he added, “think of nothing but 
of rejoicing blamelessly. I am going to prepare 
for mass. Au revoirA 

The three women accompanied Monsieur Sur- 
ville to the door. 

“ It is time for you to dress, mademoiselle,” 
said Yvonne as she came back. 

“ I will stay and help you, too, dear Marie,” 
added Madame Dalbau. The young girl was 
soon ready. Her plain white dress became her 
well, and her gentle and serious countenance 
looked like an angel’s beneath her long, floating 


THE BETTER PART. 


lOI 


vail. Madame Dalbau’s toilet came next, and 
in honor of her daughter-in-law, she was more 
richly dressed than she had ever been since her 
widowhood. 

Yvonne, who came from the neighborhood of 
Morlaix, in Lower Brittany, put on the pictu- 
resque costume of that part of the country, which 
she had generally worn, this particular dress 
being a present from Marie. Lucien was not 
slow to present himself, accompanied by a few 
friends. His handsome face beamed with joy, 
and his eyes were riveted on his charming bride. 
The sewing-girls were not long in arriving, all 
dressed in white, and their features radiant 
with expectation. Marie greeted them all 
cordially. 

The marriage was performed in the Church of 
St. Germain, the bride’s parish church. The 
Abbe Surville stood, ready vested, at the foot of 
the Lady altar. 

Marie felt a nervous tremor go through her as 
she knelt to repeat the words which were to 
unite her to Lucien. She soon, however, re- 
gained her composure, and banishing earthly 
remembrances, humbled herself before God, and 
begged His blessing on her marriage. Still, as 
she left the church, she could not repress a tear 
that stole down her cheek. 

“What is the matter, darling ?” cried Lucien 


102 


THE BETTER PART. 


anxiously, as he got into the carriage with his 
wife and mother. ‘‘Are you sad?” 

“ Never mind, Lucien,” said Marie. “ I am 
very happy, though I could not help thinking 
how Martha’s presence would have completed 
my happiness. You are not angry with me?” 

“Angry ! Marie, with you, who are the sweet- 
est and best of wives ! My whole life is yours 
now, and it shall not be my fault if your life is 
not happy.” 

“ Thanks,” said Marie, as she gave one hand 
to her husband and the other to Madame Dalbau. 
“ I have no reason to doubt of happiness as long 
as it is in your hands.” 

The carriages stopped near the castle, and the 
merry groups scattered themselves through the 
long avenues and over the lawns. The sewing- 
girls, in the joy of their hearts, formed gay cir- 
cles and sang as they went round and round. 
Marie, delighted to see them enjoying themselves, 
encouraged them, and sometimes mingled in their 
innocent revels to stimulate them the more. Lu- 
cien outdid himself, and seemed to communicate 
to each guest the joy that possessed his own soul. 

The spot was well chosen for so gay a ren- 
dezvous. The castle of La Pr6valaye, dating from 
the fifteenth century, is situated about five miles 
from Rennes. On every side are avenues of oak, 
fir, and lime trees, and between each avenue long 


THE BETTER PART. 


103 


stretches of greensward. When Henry IV. of 
France was on his way to Nantes, he passed 
through Rennes, and slept at La Prevalaye. His 
bedroom is still shown to visitors, in memory of 
this great historical personage. Not far from the 
castle is an oak-tree planted by Henry IV. dur- 
ing his brief stay. One immense limb is still full 
of vigorous life, and the trunk, hollowed by age, 
is almost split in two. This tree goes by the 
name of Henry IV. ’s oak. By following one of 
the broad avenues and crossing a little wood you 
reach the banks of the river Vilaine, which from 
Rennes to the coast has been turned into a canal. 
No more picturesque walk can be imagined than 
this path through lovely scenery and shady 
glades ; and on Sunday nearly all Rennes crowds 
to this spot, to forget its troubles and shake off 
the dust of last week’s business. 

Marie collected all her guests in a glade 
where a rustic table had been spread, while little 
Martha ran about, pretending to be of immense 
use, and now and then relieved her exuberant 
feelings by throwing herself into the bride’s 
arms. Madame Dalbau and Yvonne, forgetful of 
their old age, became as active as young girls, 
and the collation was soon ready. Exercise and 
the clear country air stimulated the appetite of all, 
and due honor was done to the banquet. The 
girls’ joy was at its height, when a huge cheese. 


104 


THE BETTER PART. 


still wrapped in a cloth and decorated with rib- 
bons and flowers, made its appearance. This 
is the orthodox custom of Rennes, and these 
cheeses, prepared according to a Breton recipe, 
are highly prized as an indispensable element in 
a summer picnic. 

Marie’s sewing-girls had never assisted at such 
a feast before, and had never found themselves thus 
treated as equals : their gratitude toward their 
young mistress was unbounded. The day was 
most auspiciously spent, and the young people on 
their return left the bride with warm assurances 
that they would never forget her kindness. 

Meanwhile Lucien, proud of the wife he had 
chosen, thanked his good mother for the help she 
had afforded him in his courtship. Yvonne, too, 
had her word to say to Marie. 

“Would you let me kiss you?” she asked, 
“and offer you my warmest wishes? You have 
been so kind to me that I love you as my own 
child ; and you know the blessings of the old bring 
good luck.” 

Marie, by way of an answer, tenderly em- 
braced her ; then kneeling with her husband be- 
fore Madame Dalbau, she said in a low voice, 

“ Mother, bless your children.” 

Madame Dalbau, moved to tears, pressed the 
gentle bride and her husband to her motherly 
heart, and so ended Marie’s wedding-day. 


IV. 


Three months have elapsed since Marie’s 
marriage, and happiness has been her constant 
portion. Lucien’s shop is prospering, and his 
honesty is renowned through the town, while 
Marie’s customers increase every day. Madame 
Dalbau, the idol of her children, spends her 
peaceful days in congratulating herself on the 
advent of her daughter-in-law, and old Yvonne 
still lives with the family. Her especial duty is 
to look after the young apprentices, and she 
fulfills it as willingly as she does it judiciously. 
Every Sunday the household receives the wel- 
come visit of the good Abb6 Surville. 

How happy is our heroine ! Yet sometimes 
the thought of Martha will intrude, and she finds 
no comfort but in the hope that her sister is hap- 
py too. She has long ceased to expect any news 
of her : but, after three months, the negligent 
Martha actually sent the following letter, which 
we will transcribe : 

‘‘ Paris, September i6, 1852. 

“ Dear Marie : I received the news of your 
marriage as I was starting for Switzerland. 


io6 


THE BETTER PART. 


This, I hope, will explain why I did not answer 
at once. I had not a moment to lose ; every ar- 
rangement had been made, and the trip settled 
upon long ago. I could not ask Monsieur Bel- 
mont to change all his plans. 

‘‘ I should have been very happy to be present 
at your wedding, and to have made acquaintance 
with Monsieur Dalbau and his mother. I don’t 
know when I may expect this pleasure now, as 
my husband is very busy, and can not accompany 
me anywhere this year, after the long time he 
has already been absent from his business. But 
if you and your husband should come to Paris, 
do not forget to come and see me. 

We have been living in a small house in the 
Rue St. Dominique, and although it is not very 
gorgeous, it is a pretty and comfortable house, 
where I have the pleasure of receiving a great 
deal of the best society. I am quite ‘ the fashion,’ 
on account of my good taste and my accomplish- 
ments ; and the artists, who know how much I 
admire their talent, are very assiduous in their 
attentions to me. I spend my time in the culti- 
vation of art and poetry, and this fulfillment of 
my old dreams makes me very happy. Monsieur 
Belmont has just established a banking firm, that 
he may be enabled to support me in still better 
style, and this business seems very profitable, and 
leaves plenty of margin for spending. I want 


THE BETTER PART. 


107 


for nothing now ; I am the absolute mistress of 
my own home, and the equal of the great ladies, 
who are only too glad to be received into my 
society. Such is the power of wealth, Marie. 

It is true, there are a few who are jealous of 
me. But is not envy the test of success? I 
know that Madame de Kerbriant hates me for 
my good luck ; she has quarreled with Madame 
de rOrtal because the latter treats me as her 
own daughter. You know that my husband is 
her godson, and there is nothing wonderful in it 
if she should prefer to lose the countess's friend- 
ship rather than give up Monsieur Belmont. 

“ 1 saw Monsieur de Kerbriant lately ; he was 
in deep mourning for his father, who has left him 
an immense fortune. Irene was with her father ; 
just the same commonplace little thing. She 
has a stiff, puritanical, English governess now. 
The countess need not be afraid that Miss Worth 
will rival her in beauty ; indeed, I think she must 
have chosen this lady on purpose for her ugliness. 

“ Give my kind regards to your husband, and 
remember me to the Abb6 Surville. I send you 
a thousand kisses, and remain 

“ Your affectionate sister, 

“ Martha Belmont.” 

It will be seen that Martha had not changed : 
she was still cold, proud, and selfish. 


io8 


THE BETTER PART. 


“ I hope her happiness may be stable,” said 
Marie with a sigh, as she handed the letter to 
Lucien, “ for she will never be able to bear ad- 
versity.” 

“ How unlike you, my Marie !” said Lucien. 
“ How cold and frivolous is her heart ! Who 
would believe she was your sister ? We are 
strangers to her, and I can not feel any sympathy 
for her.” 

“ Lucien, try to love her, it only because I do, 
and because she is our sister.” 


V 

Not long after the foregoing conversation, 
some important purchases happened to make 
Lucien’s presence in Paris a matter of necessity. 
He would have been glad if his wife could have 
accompanied him, but she was unable to accede 
to his wish, as her personal superintendence was 
still indispensable in the shop. 

She endeavored to make up for this disap- 
pointment, by charging Lucien on no account to 
neglect going to see Martha. She gave him nu- 
merous messages to be repeated to her sister, and 
loaded him with sundry little presents which she 
hoped would be acceptable, coming as they did 
from herself. She almost thought that she had 
not said half enough when the time for her hus- 
band’s departure came, and pursued him with 
messages and recommendations. 

Lucien was lavish of promises, till at last the 
postboy cracked his whip, and the horses started 
at a sharp trot. 

Marie looked anxiously after the coach, in 


no 


THE BETTER PART. 


which she would fain have taken her seat, that 
she might go to her beloved sister. 

On his arrival in Paris, Monsieur Dalbau first 
dispatched his business, so as to be able to have 
a day or two free for his visit to his sister-in-law. 
He had let her know that he was in town, and 
Martha had sent him word that she would be 
happy to see him as soon as possible, and that 
she was at home every morning after ten 
o’clock. 

As soon as his affairs permitted. Monsieur 
Dalbau presented himself at her house. A por- 
ter, wearing a handsome blue and white livery, 
opened the door and showed him across a small 
court-yard, planted with gay flowers. At the 
inner door, a footman, who looked him carelessly 
over from head to foot, took his card and handed 
it to another servant. The latter begged him 
to follow, and led him through several hand- 
somely furnished rooms ; then, having come to the 
last drawing-room, he wheeled forward an arm- 
chair and left the guest, to go and take Madame’s 
orders. A few minutes after this, there entered 
a smart lady’s-maid, who courtesied, and said, 
Madame expects you, monsieur : will you be 
so kind as to follow me ?” 

Martha generally sat in a small boudoir, not 
far from the drawing-room. She was now lying 
on an ornamented couch, dressed in a delicate 


THE BETTER PART. 


Ill 


morning negligi, which made her beauty, if possi- 
ble, more apparent than ever. Lucien was quite 
dazzled and involuntarily came to a stand-still. 
Martha got up and advanced a step or two, say- 
ing : 

“You are welcome, monsieur.” Then turning 
to her maid, she added, “ Celestine, go and tell 
Monsieur Belmont that Monsieur Dalbau is here.” 

When they were alone, she pointed to a chair, 
and resumed, 

“ I am very glad to see you, monsieur. You 
have good news to give me of my sister, I trust. 
I am sorry she was unable to accompany you.” 

“ Marie’s presence could not be done without 
at home,” said Lucien a little awkwardly, so em- 
barrassed did he feel by this ceremonious recep- 
tion. “ She would have been'delighted to see you 
again, and she begged me to say that not a day 
passes but what she thinks lovingly of you. She 
hopes that you may be induced to visit our old 
Brittany some day.” 

“ I fear that is impossible, as I already told 
Marie. Monsieur Belmont, having just estab- 
lished a banking firm, can not leave Paris, and I 
am therefore deprived of a pleasure which will 
have to be postponed till I don’t know v/hen. 
Do you stay long in town yourself, monsieur ?” 

“ I shall leave to-morrow night.” 

“ Well, then, you must give us one day. I ex- 


II2 


THE BETTER PART. 


pect no one to-day. Let us spend our time en 
famille. You must make my husband’s acquain- 
tance.” 

Lucien bowed. 

And how are my old friends?” said Martha. 

“ The Abb6 Surville is getting old, but his 
health is still excellent. Mother Yvonne, on the 
contrary, seems to grow younger every day, as 
she performs her motherly duties of taking care 
of Marie’s work- women and apprentices.” 

“ Oh ! yes ; I think my sister spoke of a shop 
she had opened, in partnership with Madame 
Dalbau.” 

“ Marie became my mother’s partner last No- 
vember, and I owe to that circumstance the hap- 
piness of having obtained her for my wife.” 

“ I am interested in all that concerns Marie. 
May I ask if your business prospers ?” 

Well, I can only do things on a small scale 
just yet, but I have had nothing to complain of.” 

I am glad to hear it,” said Martha. 

The conversation flagged, and Martha’s man- 
ner seemed constrained. Her words were cold 
and her expression rather scornful, so that Mon- 
sieur Dalbau, embarrassed by his sister-in-law’s 
reserve, began to think that it would be as well 
to shorten his visit. 

Just then Monsieur Belmont came in. He 
was about twenty -six, with refinement and good- 


THE BETTER PART. 


II3 

breeding marked in every detail of his manner ; 
but an anxious expression cast a gloom on his 
face, naturally a cheerful one, and his black hair 
was streaked with gray near the spare, blue- 
veined temples. 

He was evidently under the sway of some 
painful and continual anxiety; but as he ap- 
proached Monsieur Dalbau, his look cleared, and 
putting out his hand, he went eagerly up to him. 

** Good morning, my brother,’’ he said, as Lu- 
cien rose. 1 was impatiently waiting for your 
business to be over, that you might come and see 
us. I was anxious to know my wife’s relations. 
Oh ! yes,” he added, as he caught Lucien’s look of 
astonishment, I know my sister quite well, with- 
out ever having seen her. I have read her letters, 
and they reveal a devoted heart and a noble soul.” 

‘‘You have judged her rightly,” said Lucien. 

“I have something against you,” said Mon- 
sieur Belmont, smiling. “ Why did you not come 
here instead of lodging at the hotel ? That was 
unkind of you.” 

“ My business,” answered Lucien, “ was in 
quite another part of the town, and I could not 
have thought of giving you so much trouble.” 

“Trouble !” echoed Monsieur Belmont. “ What 
do you mean? You are my brother.” 

Martha, who had listened impatiently, now 
interrupted her husband. 


THE BETTER PART. 


1 14 

I will leave you now,” she said abruptly ; ‘‘ I 
must dress for luncheon.” 

The two brothers-in-law were left alone, and 
quickly made friends. Monsieur Belmont was 
affectionate and eager to please, and Monsieur 
Dalbau soon forgot the uncomfortable impression 
which Martha’s conduct had left on his mind. 

Monsieur Belmont anxiously questioned Lu- 
cien about his wife, his mother, and the Abb6 
Surville, and listened complacently to Lucien’s 
answers and his eager praise of his wife Marie. 
The two men were getting quite confidential 
when Martha sent word to them that luncheon 
was ready. 

“ We shall be friends, shall we not?” said Bel- 
mont, as he shook hands with his brother-in-law. 
“ Well, since we are brothers and friends, let us 
have done with ceremony. Call me Alberic.” 

“Yes, let us be brothers and friends,” said 
Dalbau, returning the other’s warm pressure, 
“ and call me Lucien.” 

The two men left the room arm in arm. 

The luncheon passed off well. Madame Bel- 
mont unbent a little, and Lucien forgave her at- 
tempts at dignity for the sake of her husband’s 
hearty cordiality. Monsieur Belmont asked Lu- 
cien, after the meal was over, to come and see the 
garden, where they could smoke comfortably and 
be out of the way. 


THE BETTER PART. 


5 


Lucien was delighted ; but addressing Martha, 
he said, 

And will you not come, too, sister?” 

‘‘Thank you; I will wait your return here,” 
she answered. “ I have a few orders to give. 
Besides,” she added, with an equivocal smile, “ I 
might disturb your confidential communica- 
tions.” 

The two men bowed and withdrew. 


VI. 


The garden was really beautiful. There 
were parterres of rare and brilliant flowers, groves 
of foreign and native trees, long gravel walks 
adorned with statues. A thick maze occupied 
one end, and from it rose two Chinese arbou'S. 
In the centre of the maze was a rocky grotto, 
where a jet of water murmured in a marble basin 
and trickled out forming a tiny rill, which ran 
wandering through the garden, and emptied it- 
self into a little lake. Around this lake were 
planted weeping willows, whose hanging branches 
swept the wavelets rippling in the breeze. Lu- 
cien was delighted. 

“ How fortunate you are, Alb^ric,” he said, 
“to be able to fly for refuge to such an oasis, 
even in the middle of this whirlpool called Paris. 
Here you hear nothing but the harmonious 
sounds of nature. I am sure your wife must 
spend much of her time here, among these mar- 
vels of nature' and art.” 

“ It was on her account,” answered Belmont, 
“that I took pleasure in embellishing this garden, 


THE BETTER PART. 


II7 


which the former owners had shamefully neglect- 
ed. I thought that Martha would gladly have 
preferred home joys to the excitement of the 
world ; but alas ! I was mistaken.” 

Monsieur Belmont’s features expressed such 
grief as he said these words, that Lucien was 
sorry to have recalled Martha to his memory. 

I beg your pardon, Alberic ; I did not mean 
to call up any painful recollections. I did not 
know ” 

Listen, to me, Lucien : you are my brother, 
and though I have only known you a few hours, 
I already appreciate your character. You are 
kind and true, and will not betray my confidence. 
If I tell you the secret bitterness of my heart, it 
will be in order to have the satisfaction of know- 
ing that I have at least one true friend who can 
comfort me, and feel for me in my troubles. Let 
us go in here,” he said as he turned into one of 
the arbors ; no one will disturb us ; this is 
where I spend my many lonely hours.” 

Having drawn forward two rustic chairs, and 
shut the arbor door. Monsieur Belmont went on. 

“ The first time I met Martha, her beauty 
dazzled me, and her modest demeanor quite won 
my heart. I endowed her in imagination with 
every possible virtue ; I thought it impossible 
that one so lovely should have any thing but a 
lovely moral nature. The Baroness de I’Ortal, 


Il8 THE BETTER PART. 

my godmother, had also noticed Martha and 
took an interest in her ; it was through her good 
offices that I learnt that Madame de Kerbriant, 
being a vain woman, and tenaciously proud of 
her former beauty, did not spare the young go- 
verness any humiliation in her power, and was 
jealous of the girl’s success. I was not long mak- 
ing up my mind. I asked Madame de TOrtal to 
find some means of having Martha at her house, 
that she might study her disposition, and induce 
her to think favorably of marrying me. The 
baroness fell in with my plans, and told Monsieur 
de Kerbriant, who had no objection to offer. I 
saw Martha again at my godmother’s house, and 
every time I was more in love than ever. She 
seemed so gentle and retiring ! At last we were 
married, and for a few days I was perfectly hap- 
py. That happiness has fled forever.” 

Monsieur Belmont hid his face in his hands. 

It is not that I believe her to be really heart- 
less, but that her tastes and character are in per- 
petual opposition to my own. I had a fortune 
amounting to four hundred thousand francs. 
The income of this sum is sufficient to enable one 
to live comfortably and hold one’s position very 
securely, but it does not suffice for great and ex- 
pensive dissipation. I had drawn such a sweet 
fancy picture of our quiet home, and the tranquil 
joys I should taste in the society of a beautiful, 


THE BETTER PART. 


1 19 

clever, loving wife, but how rudely I was unde- 
ceived !” 

“ Are you sure there is no exaggeration ?” 
asked Lucien gently. 

Quite sure. Martha cares for nothing but 
large parties, great crowds, the society of artists 
who are forever dinning compliments into her 
ears about her beauty and her talents. Then 
she insists upon a numerous retinue of servants, a 
luxury of details far above our income, grand 
evening parties, concerts, etc. We had not been 
married three months when I found out that un- 
less we retrenched somewhat on our expenses, 
I should not be able to pay my way. I spoke to 
Martha about it, but she would not listen to me. 
I took a desperate resolution, and established a 
bank. I was fortunate enough to succeed in my 
mercantile enterprises, and was able to supply 
my wife with means to live according to her 
tastes ; and I should be quite content if she com- 
pensated me for my efforts in her behalf by even 
a few concessions ; if she only gave me a few mo- 
ments of her time, to lift the cares of business 
from my weary mind. I expected this happy 
change to come about, but in vain ; Martha is so 
full of her friends that she quite forgets the per- 
son who should be her only friend.” 

Monsieur Belmont ceased speaking ; his grief 
seemed very heavy upon him. 


120 


THE BETTER PART. 


“ Let US always hope, dear brother,” said Lu- 
cien, pressing his hand. “ Martha is so young : 
she will weary of these worldly pleasures, and 
her heart will turn to you some day.” 

I dare not hope it. I have fathomed her 
character, and found selfishness and vanity at the 
bottom. You are happier, Lucien. Marie’s let- 
ters, which I read, moved me strangely. I would 
give all I have in the world if Martha could be 
like her sister. How sorry I was not to be present 
at your marriage ! My wife knew that she would 
meet several of her friends in Switzerland, and 
she would neither give up nor put off her trip. 
Why, what is the matter, Lucien ?” he added, as 
he noticed his brother-in-law’s sudden move- 
ment. 

“ Nothing, nothing,” hastily said Lucien, who 
did not like to tell Belmont that Martha had made 
out that the Swiss trip was entirely her husband’s 
affair. “ Never mind, Alberic,” he went on, “ do 
not despair. I am sure Martha will appreciate 
your devotion some day, and reward you with 
her truest affection.” 

“ I will try to accept your prophecy. But it 
is getting late : let us go back to my wife’s room ; 
she must want to ask you so many things, and 
she would hardly thank me for usurping all your 
time.” 

Monsieur Dalbau had not the heart to say 


THE BETTER PART. 


12 


that Martha had seemed but too weary of his 
presence before. Belmont’s words had grieved 
him, and he was loth to add to his brother-in-law’s 
trouble by giving him this new proof of his wife’s 
heartlessness. 


VII. 


Alberic and Lucien left the garden. 

“Where is your mistress, Celestine?” said 
Monsieur Belmont, as he entered the drawing- 
room. 

“ Madame is in her own room,” said the maid, 
leaving the apartment. 

“ Lucien, wait for me a moment ; I will go and 
fetch my wile.” 

Monsieur Dalbau thought sadly over the re- 
velations of his brother-in-law’s home life, and 
Mane seemed more lovable than ever in his eyes. 
He was left alone a long while ; Monsieur Bel- 
mont seemed to have forgotten him. At last the 
noise of an altercation was heard through the thin 
partition. The reader may remember that Mar- 
tha’s boudoir was next to the drawing-room. 

“ I tell you, Martha,” the voice of Belmont 
was heard repeating in a high key, “ that 
you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Is not 
Monsieur Dalbau your brother?” 

“ Of course, I don’t deny that,” said Martha 


THE BETTER PART. 


123 


snappishly ; “ but is that any reason why we 
should make ourselves ridiculous in the eyes of 
the ladies we expect ?” 

What do you mean by making ourselves ri- 
diculous ?” 

^‘Do you suppose that Monsieur Dalbau's 
company will be agreeable to Madame de Maille- 
bois and Lady Peebles? Has he the manners 
and tone of a man used to good society ?” 

I knew you were proud, Martha, but I did 
not believe you heartless. Do you mean to give 
up your relations for a set of people who only 
laugh at 3^our pretensions ?” 

‘‘ My pretensions, indeed ! I will not be 
spoken to so ! Keep your brother-in-law in the 
house for good, if you like, and neglect for 
his sake the society of those influential people 
who crowd round me ; that is your affair ; but do 
not expect that I am going to constitute myself 
his very humble servant. I only asked him to 
stay because I thought no one would come. 
What do you think the Countess and Lady Pee- 
bles will say when they hear Monsieur Dalbau, 
cabinet -maker ^ announced ?” 

And I should like to know who and what 
you would be, it it were not for your marriage,” 
angrily cried Monsieur Belmont. Martha, take 
care ; you will tempt me to say things I should be 
sorry for later on. Just think about what you 


124 


THE BETTER PART. 


mean to do, and follow my advice for once. Will 
you do nothing for my sake ?” 

“ Let me alone ; I know well enough what I 
have to do. Spare me your advice ; I hear the 
carriages at the door already.’’ 

Monsieur Belmont apparently spoke again, 
but Lucien could not distinguish his words, so 
hoarse was his voice as he said them. 

Monsieur Dalbau, blushing with anger and 
shame, would fain have left the house at once 
after the conversation he had unintentionally 
overheard, had not the thought of his brother-in- 
law come to chase this resolution from his mind. 
He determined to find some pretext which might 
satisfy Monsieur Belmont, for he felt he could no 
longer trust himself in Martha’s presence, and he 
wished at the same time to avoid being the cause 
of any further estrangement between the husband 
and wife. These thoughts were passing con- 
fusedly through his mind when Martha and her 
husband came in together ; and almost simultane- 
ously the doors opened wide, and the servant an- 
nounced, 

“ The Countess de Maillebois and Lady Pee- 
bles.” 

Martha eagerly welcomed her guests. 

“ How kind of you,” she exclaimed, “ to give 
me a little of your valuable time !” 

“ I would not pass through Paris without see- 


THE BETTER PART. 


125 


ing you, my dear,” said Lady Peebles, a tall Eng- 
lishwoman with a haughty countenance. “ You 
are the only person I shall have time to see, for 
you know 1 have just left Geneva, and start to- 
morrow morning for London.” 

“ And I, my dear,” said the countess, “ I am 
too fond of you to let any opportunity of seeing 
you slip by. You are more blooming than ever, 
dear little friend. Is not that Monsieur Bel- 
mont?” 

“ It is,” said Alberic, coming forward. And 
your most humble servant, ladies. Allow 
me to introduce my brother-in-law. Monsieur 
Dalbau.” 

Lucien bowed, while the two ladies returned 
his civility by a formal and rather supercilious 
nod. Martha and her friends began to talk; no 
one noticed Monsieur Belmont, still less Lucien. 
Time passed, and dinner was announced. Mon- 
sieur Belmont gave Lady Peebles his arm, and 
led her into the dining-room ; but the countess, 
seeing Lucien approach her, quickly locked her 
arm in Martha’s, and stalked forward. Madame 
Belmont was minutely courteous toward her 
lady guests, and though not absolutely uncivil to 
her brother-in-law, treated him with utter indif- 
ference. The two men were on thorns ; both 
were hurt at Madame Belmont’s pointed beha- 
vior. When dinner was over, and the company 


126 


THE BETTER PART. 


had adjourned to the drawing-room, the two la- 
dies began making sundry excuses, and hastened 
their departure. 

Alone once more, Lucien turned to say good- 
by to Belmont. 

^‘What!” cried the latter, you are going 
now ; I thought you had promised not to leave 
till to-morrow night?” 

“ I said so, because I thought that I should 
find a welcome here,” Lucien answered very 
quietly. “ Alberic, I shall never forget you, and 
you may command my services whenever you 
have need of them. Madame,” he added, turn- 
ing to Martha, “ I hope you will forgive me the 
trouble I have given you : I feel that it would be 
unbecoming in me to add to it to-night. Still, if 
you should wish to go to Rennes to see your 
sister, believe me when I tell you that it will be 
a great happiness for my wife, and that I shall 
share in the pleasure it will give her.” 

He left the room without waiting for a reply ; 
Alberic followed him. 

“ I will go with you to the hotel,” said the 
latter. 

I shall leave at once,” answered Lucien. 
“ I have got through my business, and have no 
other reason for staying any longer in town.” 

“ Well, then, I will go with you to the coach. 
It is a great disappointment to me to miss the 


THE BETTER PART. 


127 


whole of to-morrow, which I had reckoned on 
spending with you. But I hardly dare to ask 
you to alter your present plans.” 

“ You are right, Alb6ric. Martha’s manner 
hurt me too much : I could not risk another such 
interview ; but as it would make Marie very un- 
happy to know the truth, you may be sure I shall 
say nothing about it to her.” 

“ Thanks ; but do not forget to speak to her 
of my affection for her.” 

Lucien was soon ready to start, and the two 
men went together to the coach-office. There was 
one seat unoccupied, and the coach was just 
about to leave. Monsieur Dalbau got in, and 
shaking hands with Monsieur Belmont, said 
heartily, 

‘‘ Good-by, Alb6ric ; may 3 ^ou be happy, for 
you deserve it.” 

“ Good-by, Lucien,” answered the other. 
“Would to God your wish might come true! 
Remember me affectionately as your brother.” 


VIII. 


Marie was expecting her husband’s return 
with the utmost impatience, and fancied that he 
would have no end of pleasant things to say about 
Martha’s welcome to him. 

“ He is so good,” she said to Madame Dalbau, 
“ that I am sure my sister will be delighted to know 
him. Even if poor Martha was a little neglectful 
or indifferent in her manner toward me, I know 
she loved me in her heart, and you will see that 
my husband will have every reason to be pleased 
with her reception of him, as he will remind her 
of me.” 

Madame Dalbau did not reply: she knew 
more of Martha’s character than the kind-hearted 
Marie would see or take notice of. 

“ I wish I were in Lucien’s place, or at least 
with him,” continued the young wife ; “ how I 
envy him his seeing and embracing my sister ! I 
never knew my work seem wearisome before, but 
now I chafe under the necessity of remaining 
behind, on account of my business ! Still I hope 
Lucien may have induced Martha to promise us 
a visit. Who knows ? perhaps he will bring her 
with him !” 

This was the way Marie spent her time, allow- 


THE BETTER PART. 


129 


ing a feverish impatience to prey upon her mind ; 
it was all she could do not to start for Paris to 
join her husband. She would stand for an hour 
every morning at her window, or at the open 
shop-door, watching for the postman ; but al- 
though Lucien had been gone a fortnight, she had 
got no letter except such as referred to his affairs. 
Then one came, telling her that he would call on 
her sister the following day, at which news Ma- 
rie grew more thoughtful than ever, coming and 
going as if in a dream, and caressing the little girl 
Martha, whom she would not let out of her sight 
the whole day. In vain Madame Dalbau tried to 
soothe her ; the young wife had nothing to say to 
her kind old friend but such broken sentences as 
these : 

“ Do not scold me, mother : I am so fond of 
my Martha ! I sho uld have been so happy if I 
could only have seen her ! . . Leave me alone to 

think of her. . . Why could I not go with Lucien ?” 

Two days went by, and the second evening 
after the receipt of Lucien’s letter, Marie was just 
closing the shop, when her husband arrived. 

“ What ! Lucien, is it you !” cried Marie, 
trembling with anxiety. “ Did you not see 
Martha ?'’ 

** Yes, dear, I saw her,” said Lucien, kissing 
first his wife, then his mother whom Marie’s star- 
tled exclamation had called to her side. * 


130 


THE BETTER PART. 


But it was only yesterday that you were to 
have seen her. You can not have been with her 
more than a few hours, since you are back already. 
She is not ill, is she ?” 

No, no, do not distress yourself ; she is quite 
well, but we will talk about her when I am a little 
rested.” 

Then, as he noticed the anxious look that 
gathered on Marie’s countenance, he added, 

“ Your sister’s first inquiry was about you, 
dearest.” 

“ Oh ! thanks, Lucien,” she cried, as a happy 
expression chased away her anxiety. “ I was not 
mistaken after all, mother.” And she cheerfully 
busied herself in helping her husband to take off 
his coat, and get rid of the many small parcels 
that weighed down his pockets. She would have 
asked Lucien at once about his interview with 
her sister ; but Madame Dalbau gently reminded 
her that her son must need a rest after his journey, 
at which remonstrance Marie became ashamed of 
her importunity, and consented to put off the 
happy explanation till the next day. 

Before she went to sleep, she knelt to thank 
God specially for the kind thoughts which her 
sister had had of her : poor child, she little knew 
for what she was so thankful ! She rose with the 
lark the next morning, so impatient was she to get 
the promised news of Martha, and to cheat her- 


THE BETTER PART. 


I3I 

self, went straight to the work-room, and tried to 
find something to do. The girls were all at work, 
a certain press of business having made it necessary 
that they should begin earlier than usual. While 
she was thus employed. Monsieur Dalbau went 
to his mother’s room and quietly told her all. 

“ What shall we do ?” he asked. “ What do 
advise me to do, mother ?” 

Marie must know nothing of it, especially 
after what she said last night. The shock would 
be too great for her, poor child ; let her never 
know how unworthy Martha is of her love. I 
think that without absolutely telling an untruth, 
you might pass over what so justly hurt you, and 
find some plausible pretext to explain your hur- 
ried departure.” 

You are right, but I dread the many ques- 
tions which I know Marie will put. I will do my 
best to blind her to the truth : I have no idea of 
Madame Belmont’s causing a break in our do- 
mestic peace. Besides, I can at least extol my 
brother-in-law to the skies ; that is one comfort. 
Poor man, he deserves a better wife ; pity there 
was not one like Marie for him.’' 

“ Hush,” said Madame Dalbau ; “ I hear the 
sound of footsteps ; Marie will have found out 
that you have come here.” 

It was as she said, and Marie now came in. 

“ 1 can not wait any longer, Lucien,” she said 


132 


THE BETTER PART. 


coaxingly ; “ you will tell me all about Martha 
now, won’t you, dear ?” 

Lucien did as he was told, and succeeded in 
satisfactorily explaining away the unpleasant- 
ness of his visit to his sister-in-law. He answered 
all Marie’s questions, while she fairly cried with 
delight at receiving such good news. Then he 
spoke of Monsieur Belmont ; he could be elo- 
quent enough on this subject, and drew such a 
picture of Alberic, that Marie soon shared his en- 
thusiasm, and congratulated herself on having so 
charming and distinguished a brother-in-law. 

She was overjoyed to think that Martha’s hap- 
piness was intrusted to such hands ; and having not 
the slightest suspicion that Monsieur Dalbau was 
concealing any thing from her, could not rest be- 
fore Mother Yvonne and the Abb6 Surville had 
come to share her joy. She felt sure now that 
Martha had not mistaken her vocation, and she 
wished her friends to be likewise assured of it. 
The good priest was skeptical, but warily hid his 
suspicions ; Lucien, however, of whom he made 
private inquiries, told him the truth. I 
feared it, spite of myself,” said the kind old man. 
“An ungrateful daughter and a selfish sister, 
Martha could scarcely be a good wife. God for- 
give her, and may He forbear to punish her too 
heavily in the future.” 


IX. 

Fifteen months of unbroken peace passed 
over the Dalbaus’ household, and the young 
couple were blessed during that time with a lit- 
tle boy, whom Lucien named Alb6ric, after 
his bfDther-in-law. Old Madame Dalbau and 
Yvonne often disputed over the prize, as to which 
should take especial care of the baby, who was 
now almost six months old. 

Monsieur Belmont wrote often to his rela- 
tions at Rennes; he too had become a father 
within the last ten months, when Martha pre- 
sented him with twin daughters. He told 
Lucien in several confidential letters that he 
grieved to say that his wife, far from moderat- 
ing her expenses, had launched into still more 
extravagant display, and insisted on living like a 
queen. Martha herself only wrote to her sister 
once, and then it was but to say that Monsieur 
Belmont had just had a stroke of remarkable 
luck in his banking transactions, and had realized 


134 


THE BETTER. PART. 


sudden and enormous profits. This letter ar- 
rived just about the time at which our story re- 
opens. 

Marie was sitting in the dining-room one day, 
her child on her knee, and Madame Dalbau and 
Yvonne leaning against the table. They were 
waiting for Lucien. All three looked anxious, 
especially Marie, as she pressed her child con- 
vulsively to her bosom. 

Lucien came in at last, with a saddened 
countenance, and before taking his seat at the 
table, went silently up to his wife and kissed both 
her and the boy. The dinner was but a melan- 
choly meal ; sorrow and trouble seemed to^brood 
over the house which we formerly knew as a 
model of calm happiness. 

Well, Lucien,” said Marie, after a long pause, 
‘‘did you see Monsieur Legrand?” 

“ Yes, I did,” he answered slowly. 

“ And he agrees to a compromise ?” asked the 
wife, with faltering voice. 

“ He has refused.” 

“ O heavens ! what is to be done, then ? I 
will go and see him myself ; perhaps he will have 
pity on me.” 

“ I told him all that you could tell him, dear. 
I explained to him that this St. Malo firm, which 
gave me the commission for exportation, is now 
bankrupt, and is therefore unable to meet its en- 


THE BETTER PART- 


135 


gagements with me, and that, in this extremity, 
nothing remains to me but to sell off all the furni- 
ture I have in my work-shops. To get rid of so 
large a quantity, however, some little time will be 
necessary ; and if they are sold by auction, they 
will bring in next to nothing, since they will be 
bought at prices far below cost. He would not 
heed me. ‘ Pay me at once,’ he kept repeating. 
‘ I too have engagements to meet, and I can’t 
afford to wait.’ ” 

“ But,” urged Marie, “ did you tell him that 
my shop will help us to pay the greater part of 
the sum due him, in less than a year?” 

He would not listen to such a suggestion. 
If a sale would clear me, I would not mind ; but 
if I am to be declared a bankrupt, the sale 
would not cover half my debt, and I should feel 
dishonored forever.” 

Monsieur Dalbau hid his face in his hands, 
while Marie, speechless with grief, clasped her 
child close to her bosom, as if to protect him 
from the danger that threatened his parents. 
Madame Dalbau and Yvonne were crying in 
silence, but after a few moments’ pause, Marie 
took courage and spoke. How much time will 
Monsieur Legrand give you, Lucien ?” she said, 
addressing her husband. 

Ten days.” 

“ And what is the whole amount of the debt?” 


136 


THE BETTER PART. 


^‘Twenty thousand francs, of which I offer 
him ten thousand down, but he refused and said 
he would take all or nothing. If I am declared 
a bankrupt, my other creditors will come down 
upon me, and the ten thousand francs which I 
could collect by making use of all the resources 
at my command and drawing on the capital 
which my mother leaves at my disposal, would 
not even give each a proper share. How my 
hopes have been deceived ; and I had so built 
upon the fine profits I was to get from this ex- 
portation commission ! Poor Marie, and you, 
mother, I shall soon be a cause of trouble and 
sorrow to you both. Can you forgive me ?” 

Forgive you!” cried Marie, as she set her 
child on Lucien’s knee, and put her arms round 
his neck. “What have we to forgive, darling? 
This trouble has not come upon us through any 
fault of yours, and God is the arbiter of our fate 
at all times ; let us hope in Him.” 

“ Poor, dear children,” sighed Madame Dal- 
bau, “why am I not a rich woman, so that I 
might remedy this strait !” 

“ Mother dear,” said Lucien reproachfully, 
“ have you not done enough, and more than we 
had any right to expect, when you forced us to 
draw upon your savings, your only safeguard in 
case of evil days falling upon you ?” 

“ And how could I have lived in security and 


THE BETTER PART. 1 37 

know my children to be in want ?” said Madame 
Dalbau. 

“ Oh, if I only had something to give you,” 
said poor Yvonne : how proud I should be if 
you would take it ! But I have nothing left but 
my hearty good-will,” she added, while t^ars ran 
down her cheeks ; and I can still spin ; so I will 
look for work, and not be a burden to you any 
longer.” 

“What do you mean. Mother Yvonne? you 
would leave us !” cried Lucien and Marie in one 
breath. “No, indeed,” continued the young 
man. “ What distresses me in this ruinous per- 
spective is the dishonor which will attach to my 
reputation ; for after all, I hope to be able to pay 
all my creditors in the long run, out of the pro- 
fits of the work-shop itself. Poor little Alberic !” 
he added, as he kissed his baby son. 

“ Let us hope, even against hope,” said Marie, 
“we may get out of this trouble in a way we 
little expect. God will surely not forsake us.” 


X. 


Unable to conceal her emotion, and yet loth 
to increase Lucien’s grief by a display of her 
own, Marie retreated to her room, where she 
threw herself on her knees before a little image 
of Our Lady, the same which had formerly 
cheered her poor garret. 

“Holy Mother,” she cried in her anguish, 
“ have pity on my husband and my child !” 

Her tears choked her, and for a long time she 
remained thus, plunged in painful thoughts, till 
at last she roused herself, and tried to cast about 
her for some means by which to extricate them- 
selves from the threatened danger. What was to 
be done ? How could the ten thousand francs be 
procured, which were wanting to the full sum 
owing to Monsieur Legrand ? 

A thousand wild plans suggested themselves 
to her mind, but none seemed feasible, when 
Marie at last mechanically cast her eyes on a 
little writing-desk that stood in a corner of the 
room. It was open, and on the ledge lay Mar- 
tha’s last letter. A thought struck her. She 
rushed to the desk, and, seizing the letter, said to 


THE BETTER PART. 


139 


herself, “ Why did I not think of this before ? 
Martha tells me that her husband has just real- 
ized enormous profits ; she can not refuse to 
lend us the sum we want. Heaven itself has sent 
this suggestion at last. We are safe now !” 

She sat down, trembling with feverish agita- 
tion, and quickly wrote the following letter : 

'‘Dearest Martha: My only hope is in 
you. Since my last letter we have been 
very unfortunate. My husband had received 
a large order from a firm in St. Malo, which 
he executed ; but was obliged to get credit 
to the amount of twenty thousand francs. 
This we were perfectly justified in doing, as the 
price proposed was sufficient to cover this debt, 
and leave us a handsome profit besides. All was 
ready, and Lucien wrote to tell his customers so ; 
when the news came suddenly upon us that the 
St. Malo firm had stopped payment. We repre- 
sented these facts to our creditor, but he would 
not listen to reason. All we can do will not yield 
us more than half the sum required; but with 
time, and by selling off all our effects, as well as 
by curtailing our daily expenses, we could 
weather the storm. On the other hand, if we are 
forced to sell quickly and at a disadvantage, we 
shall be altogether ruined, without even clearing 
ourselves. 


140 


THE BETTER PART. 


I am going to ask you, dear Martha, to help 
us in this strait, and to save our good name, by 
lending us ten thousand francs. I make this re- 
quest without the slightest fear of being refused. 
It is for my husband’s, my mother’s, and m’y 
child’s sake that I ask this favor of you. Think 
of your own husband and your two little dar- 
lings, and I know you will willingly be our guar- 
dian angel. 

“ It is unjust of me even to ask as if I doubted 
your answer ; my heart tells me what yours will 
feel, and I thank you beforehand. I can not love 
you more dearly than I do, but gratitude will 
henceforth be added to love. 

** Your affectionate sister, 

‘'Marie Dalbau.” 

A sigh of relief escaped her when she had 
finished this letter. “ Yes,” she commented, as 
she read it over to herself, “ Martha will under- 
stand. She may be careless, but she is affection- 
ate at bottom, and she will not leave us in want, 
when to help us will not even take one pleasure 
from her life.” It was long before Marie made up 
her mind as to whether she should show this let- 
ter to her husband or not. She remembered that 
Lucien had sometimes let fall hints far from com- 
plimentary to her sister ; and she feared that he 
would hesitate to make use of this expedient, 


THE BETTER PART. 


I4I 

though she was sure it would be successful. 
She sent the letter off at last without his know- 
ledge, and longed for the answer, which she con- 
fidently expected to be according to her wishes, 
and which she would be so proud to show to 
Lucien, to convince him of her sister’s real kind- 
heartedness. “ I am sure,” she thought, that 
Martha will not delay her answer ; she, too, is a 
wife and a mother. What would I not do for 
her, if the situation were reversed ?” She forgot 
that her sister was incapable of sympathizing 
with any trouble that did not personally inconve- 
nience herself. She judged Martha by her own 
standard, and we have seen how fallacious was 
this ideal estimate. She got the letter posted by 
one of her work-women, on whom she enjoined 
the strictest secrecy, and joined her mother and 
husband again with a lighter heart than she had 
had an hour ago. 

The hours passed wearily, spite of Marie’s 
efforts to enliven her family circle. Monsieur 
Dalbau could not take his eyes off his wife and his 
mother, and sadly speculated on the chances of 
those loved ones being condemned to a life of 
penury and wretchedness ; while as to his child,' 
who was peacefully slumbering in Marie’s arms, 
the little innocent added untold pangs to his 
father’s grief. 

A few days went by, and Marie anxiously 


142 


THE BETTER PART. 


waited for the Paris letter, which was still de- 
layed, while Lucien had in the mean while taken 
a daring resolve. I will ask Alberic,” he 
thought ; “ Martha told us that he had been very 
fortunate not long ago. It is impossible I should 
sue to him in vain ; he is too good and generous 
to hesitate for an instant.” Monsieur Dalbau’s 
letter was written, and he was on his way to the 
post-office, when the postman met him in the 
street, and handed him a letter in his brother-in- 
law’s handwriting, addressed to him, and marked 
private. Monsieur Dalbau tore it open and read 
it as he walked along ; but the very first lines 
seemed to cause him some painful revulsion of 
feeling. Walking hurriedly back, he shut him- 
self up in his office to read the note without fear 
of interruption. This was what met his eye : 

My Dear Lucien : You are the only friend I 
have who cares to know my troubles ; the only 
one whom my sad confidences can not weary ; 
the only one who is aware of my inner feelings, 
and who knows how wretched I am. 

I want your friendship and support more 
than ever. I am indeed an object of pity, for I 
am losing every thing at one blow. And, worse 
than all, it is Martha, whom I have loved so 
dearly, and for whom I would have given my 
heart’s blood, who is at the bottom of all my 


THE BETTER PART. 


143 


troubles. Having already shown herself an 
undutiful wife, she now seems to me a heartless 
mother ; and having irretrievably compromised 
my happiness, she crowns all by ruining the 
future of our children. Her extravagant love of 
display has been ever on the increase. I have 
not spared advice, remonstrances, entreaties ; but 
in vain ; and I have even been forced outwardly 
to countenance her folly, for fear of ruining her 
good name and reputation. There is no peace 
for me, my friend. 

'' Every day brings some new whim, and the 
profits of the bank are swallowed up beforehand. 
Nay, more, I am in constant receipt of bills which 
show me that not only does Martha remorselessly 
use every penny of my hard-earned wealth, but 
that, to satisfy on the instant her slightest freak, 
she does not hesitate to have recourse to debts. 
How long can this last ? I hardly know yet ; but 
this I am sure of, that we are fast approaching a 
catastrophe, and that in a very short time I shall 
be literally unable to keep pace with Martha’s 
expenses, and shall be blazoned forth to the world 
as a dishonest man and a bankrupt. 

I wish I might never see my wife again. I 
almost hate her, for she has no heart, no feeling. 
If I were the only one whom it concerned, I 
should feel more resigned ; but what will become 
of my poor children, Valentine and Marie, in the 


144 


THE BETTER PART. 


hands of a mother to whom they are an eyesore 
and a burden ? 

‘‘ Lucien, I am thoroughly wretched. How I 
wish I had you near me, to comfort and support 
me in this trial ! Whatever ma)^ happen, never 
forget your friendship for me. I have no heart 
to write at greater length. 

“ Believe me, your affectionate brother, 

'‘Alberic Belmont.” 

Monsieur Dalbau was struck dumb by this 
ominous letter. A thousand dark thoughts swam 
confusedly before him. His brother-in-law ruined 
and dishonored, and his own last chance of re- 
trieving himself gone ! Monsieur Belmont alone 
could have helped him to weather the storm ; but 
without this help there was nothing to be done 
but bow down under the threatened trial ! But 
after a while, Lucien’s unselfish heart got the upper 
hand, and he forgot his own troubles to think 
seriously of Alberic’s. Alas !” he said to him- 
self, “ I pity you from my heart, brother ; for in 
the midst of your hardships you have no Marie 
to comfort you.” 

He was surprised, when he entered his wife’s 
shop, to find both her and his mother crying bit- 
terly over a letter. He quickly asked the reason of 
this new grief, and Marie answered, in a whisper, 
I fear I must tell you, dear. I thought that 


THE BETTER PART. 


145 


Martha would have helped us, and I wrote to 
her to ask her. This is the answer I have just 
received.” 

Lucien took it, and read as follows : 

“ Dear Marie : I wish I could do you the ser- 
vice you ask of me. Unfortunately, it is out of 
my power at the present time. 

“ It is true that my husband lately realized 
enormous sums ; but as fast as he makes money, 
he uses it for his own purposes, and my expendi- 
ture is reduced to the smallest amount. I never 
have any thing at my own disposal. I have often 
asked Monsieur Belmont to add to the yearly 
allowance which he makes me for my dress and 
household expenses ; but his tastes are diametri- 
cally opposed to mine, and he would hear of no 
further concession. I can not, therefore, apply to 
him ; besides, it would be impossible for me to 
humble myself so, seeing the many reasons I have 
for being displeased with his behavior toward me. 

How could Monsieur Dalbau undertake any 
thing so risky as the affair you mention ? He 
should be more prudent. Forgive me, dear, for 
this suggestion ; and believe me, I am truly dis- 
tressed that I can do nothing for you. Monsieur 
Belmont’s generosity is not such as to warrant 
my making any such serious demand upon it. 
Good-by, Marie dear ; let us hope that some lucky 


46 


THE BETTER PART. 


chance will relieve you from your present embar- 
rassment. It is the sincere wish of 
“ Your affectionate sister, 

Martha Belmont.” 

Lucien was unable to contain his indignation. 

“ Is it not enough for her to have been the 
bane of a good man’s life, that she must needs 
calumniate him into the bargain ? See, Marie, 
this is the truth. Read it, and judge for yourself.” 

And Lucien held out the letter he had just 
received from his brother-in-law. Marie glanced 
hastily over it, but the shock was too great. A 
mist swam before her eyes, and she fell senseless 
to the ground. Lucien grew frightened, and 
reproached himself for his undue haste in so 
abruptly undeceiving her. Madame Dalbau and 
Yvonne wept aloud, fearing, not without reason, 
that the sad news thus suddenly told might prove 
fatal to the gentle Marie. Lucien flung himself 
on his knees, mad with grief, and besought his 
wife to look at him, speak to him. . . . 

At last Marie slowly opened her eyes, and a 
flood of tears relieved her oppressed heart. 

“ Do not cry for me,” she said, with a sad 
smile. “ I am strong, and can bear this hard 
trial. Poor brother !” she added, “ how wretched 
he must be ! O my Martha !” she said in a 
whisper, “ how could you deceive me so cruelly ?” 


XL 


Let us leave Rennes, and transport ourselves 
to Paris, to Monsieur Belmont’s pretty home. 
It is now eight o’clock in the evening, and the 
last preparations are being made for a ball which 
is to be given there this very night. Martha is 
lying down in her boudoir, resting from the 
fatigue of superintending the workmen who had 
been engaged all day in the decoration of the 
rooms. Her beauty is as brilliant as ever, but 
the hard, haughty, scornful expression of her 
face is enough to take even from beauty its most 
incontestable charms. She is evidently engaged 
in no pleasant train of thought, and her lips 
tightly drawn together tell of vexation and 
worry. She was just about to touch the bell to 
summon her maid, when her husband came into 
the room. She received him with an impatient 
exclamation, which she did not even take the 
trouble to repress, and which showed plainly 
enough how unwelcome his presence was to her ; 
but Monsieur Belmont did not seem to notice 


148 


THE BETTER PART. • 


it, and stood quietly with folded arms before his 
handsome wife. 

He was sadly chang^ed ; his cheeks were hol- 
low and his eyes sunken, though lit up with un- 
natural and feverish brilliancy ; his hair had 
almost turned gray. 

“ Martha,” he said in a low, dejected tone. 
‘‘ I must speak to you.” 

“ Do you not see that it is impossible at this 
time ? 1 shall barely have time to dress before 

my guests arrive.” 

You may well say my guests^ for they are 
certainly not mine, Martha. But never mind ; I 
am forced to detain you a moment; I have to 
speak to you of myself, and of our children.” 

Celestine is waiting to dress me ; I can not 
possibly spare you a moment to-night.” 

She rose and opened her dressing-room door, 
but Monsieur Belmont, quick as lightning, seiz- 
ed her wrist. 

“ You shall not leave the room, madame, 
until I allow you to go.” 

“ What means this violence, monsieur?” cried 
Martha in a passion. “ I shall not leave the 
room, say you ? We shall see about that.” 

Again she tried the door, but Monsieur Bel 
mont, cool and collected, barred her passage 
with his outstretched arm. Martha, in a fearful 
temper, flung herself on a sofa. 


THE BETTER PART. 


149 


I have to speak to you on a serious subject, 
madame,’’ resumed her husband ; “that is, about 
things which you would have known long ago 
had I not become as a stranger to you for many 
months. It is, however, impossible to hide them 
from you any longer. I will begin by what 
ought to be nearest your heart. Are you aware 
that your two children are dying?*' 

Martha was silent. 

“ Do you hear me ? your children are dying, 
with no one near them to tend them but hired 
strangers, while their mother, whose sacred duty 
it is to watch over them, thinks of nothing but 
worldly entertainments and flattering compli- 
ments on her beauty. Is this true or not ? You 
do not answer me? I will tell you what keeps 
you away from your children's sick-bed : you 
fear to be near them, thinking their disease catch- 
ing, and that the small-pox, which has brought 
them to the edge of the grave, might attack you 
and impair the beauty of which you are so proud. 
Have I guessed right, madame ?” 

Martha was still silent, and a scornful smile 
curled her lips as she pretended to pay no atten- 
tion to her husband’s words. He went on after a 
pause, 

“ I have to tell you things which will 
perhaps have more power to move you. I am 
forced to let you know that I am a ruined 


THE BETTER PART. 


150 

man, and that the house of Monsieur Belmont, 
the banker, will be sold in a few days to pay his 
creditors.” 

Martha arose to her full height and gave a long, 
piercing scream. 

“ Is that really true ?” she asked huskily. 

Ah ! this touches you, madame, this wounds 
your heart! So much the better, and may the 
downfall of your pride serve partly to avenge 
the utter downfall of my hopes of domestic hap- 
piness !” 

Monsieur Belmont strode toward the door, 
but his wife, in a cold, hard voice, called him 
back, saying, 

“ I consider that you owe me an explanation, 
monsieur: how is it that you are ruined?” 

“ And are you ignorant of the facts, madame? 
Do you mean to say you do not know what hand 
has hurried on the crisis ? I will tell you with 
pleasure. When I first knew you, I was de- 
lighted with your beauty and the good qualities 
I made sure were yours, and I unhesitatingly 
placed my life’s happiness in your hands. What 
has become of it now ? I had an income that 
was sufficient to support us in comfort and re- 
spectability ; where is it now ? I would scorn to 
throw in your face your own penniless position 
before I married you ; for I believed myself 
doubly repaid for the position I gave you, by the 


THE BETTER PART. 


151 

hopes of obtaining your affectioii and esteem. 
Three months, however, were enough to disabuse 
me of these hopes ; I grew to be a stranger to 
you ; but what did I not do, what entreaties did 
I not use, to turn your heart toward me once 
more ? I did not know that you had no heart ! 
My efforts were useless ; but I still loved you, and 
that I might at least supply you with money for 
your extravagant tastes, I worked hard, and 
sacrificed my peace of mind, rather than see your 
vanity checked by misfortune. Did you care for 
me the more on this account ? Day by day you 
grew colder and colder toward your husband, 
and by the company you kept, that of artists and 
women of i^oubtful character, you have even 
compromised your honor.” 

Monsieur Belmont paused a moment, then re- 
sumed, 

“To crown all your bad actions, you have 
forsaken your own children. Have Valentine 
and Marie ever known a mother’s tenderness? 
Have they even received one genuine caress since 
the hour they were born ? This, more than an)^ 
thing, has killed all vestige of my lingering love 
for you. Martha, you began by scorning your 
own relations, and ended by treading under foot 
the most sacred duties and the most beautiful 
instincts of nature.” 

Martha persisted in keeping a stolid silence. 


152 


THE BETTER PART. 


“ Farewell, madame,” continued her husband ; 
“ this is our last meeting. I have arranged mat- 
ters so as to spare you the care of your children, 
of whom Madame de TOrtal has promised to take 
charge. Believe me when I say that I shall do 
all in my power to shield you from absolute 
penury. Your diamonds are your own, and your 
settlement can not be touched. Once more, Mar- 
tha, farewell.” 

Monsieur Belmont walked slowly away, cast- 
ing a glance of regret on his wife, as if he was 
waiting for some sign that she wished to recall 
him. But Martha was sunk in selfish thoughts, 
and her husband had been gone some time be- 
fore she awoke from the stupor in which these 
sudden revelations had plunged her. 

“Do you not wish to dress, madame?” said 
Celestine, interrupting her mistress’s reverie ; “ it 
is nearly ten o’clock, and the guests will soon be- 
gin to arrive.” 

Martha looked up with a start. 

“ Go and tell Monsieur Belmont that I wish 
to say a few words to him at once,” she said. 
The maid went to give the order. “ Could it 
be true?” thought Martha; “if so, I hate you, 
Alb6ric ; you have blighted my life and con- 
demned me once more to poverty. Was it for 
me, then, to work in your interests?” Just then 
Celestine returned with a message. 


THE BETTER PART. 


153 


Monsieur Belmont left the house half an 
hour ago, and his valet William has orders to 
take him a few things to the Hotel de Londres ; he 
has just joined monsieur there.” 

Very well,” said Martha, full of some despe- 
rate resolve ; ‘‘ come and dress me, Celestine.” 

Madame Belmont’s ball was a tremendous 
success, and Martha herself, in a dazzling toilette^ 
did the honors with finished grace. Not a trace 
of any unusual emotion was visible on her beauti- 
ful countenance, and, surrounded by her favorite 
circle of artists, she listened complacently to 
their eager homage. The secret of her beha- 
vior was this : 

She had thought over her situation, and had 
come to the conclusion that she could easily 
save her personal settlement from the ruin of 
her husband’s fortune. Her jewels represented 
an almost equal sum, and she meant to turn 
many other things into ready money, things 
which she might fairly claim as her own. This 
had quite calmed her apprehensions, though her 
husband had fled, dishonored through her means, 
and her children, dying of a loathsome disease, 
were imprisoned in one of the attics of her 
splendid house ! 


XII. 

We have not the heart to follow Martha 
through the details of the ball ; such utter indif- 
ference is too sickening, so we will draw the cur- 
tain over those ghastly festivities, and look in 
upon her three days later. 

Monsieur Belmont’s departure was canvassed 
all over Paris. He had set his affairs in order be- 
fore leaving, and his books were open to the in- 
spection of all, but the expenses noted down were 
so boundless that those who knew little or noth- 
ing of his life could not help entertaining the most 
cruel suspicions against his honesty. The habituis 
of the house, however, easily guessed the truth, 
and knew that Madame Belmont was the primary 
cause of her husband’s ruin. 

Martha had gathered all her costly wardrobe 
in her bed-room, and was busy calculating how 
much its sale would bring her. “ Surely,” she 
thought, I shall be very unlucky if I can not 
make a hundred thousand francs on all this, to 
which I shall add my dowry. This will come to 
two hundred thousand francs, which, well invest- 
ed, ought to bring in an income of ten thousand. 


THE BETTER PART. 


155 


Little enough, indeed, but let us hope ! Some 
lucky chance may ameliorate my condition. I 
have friends. Clorinda de Maillebois, Lady Pee- 
bles, and Olympia de Verles are devoted to me, 
not to mention others whom I am forgetting. I 
will see them at once ; no doubt they will at least 
know how to advise me.” She rang the bell, and 
when her maid appeared, she gave the following 
order ; 

“ Let the carriage come round at once.” 

The coachman left this morning, madame, 
and he said he did not mean to come back.” 

Is William still here ?” 

“ William said that he could not leave so kind 
a master as monsieur, and he has gone to join 
him.” 

Who is there, then ?” 

“ No one but Noel, the footman, madame.” 

“ Very well ; let him drive me, then ; say I 
want the carriage at once.” 

Martha left her home half an hour later, giving 
the order to the driver to go to Madame de Mail- 
lebois’ house, a few streets distant from her own. 
It was about nine o’clock in the morning when 
Martha reached her friend’s residence. 

“ Madame is asleep, ’’said the wondering lady’s- 
maid, when Madame Belmont inquired for her. 
“ Will you please to wait ?” 

Martha went into the drawing-room, and in 


156 


THE BETTER PART. 


a few minutes the maid came back to say that the 
countess was awake, and would see Madame de 
Belmont at once. 

Martha hurried in to Madame de Maillebois’ 
room, and the latter, taking her by the hand, 
made her sit down by the bed. 

“ What brings you here so early, fair friend ?” 
she asked playfully. 

“ Ah Clorinda ! I am so unhappy.” 

“ And so you have come to me ? I am so glad, 
for, do you know, I began to think you liked 
Olympia de Verles better than you did me. This 
tells me that I was mistaken. What can I do for 
you, dear ?” 

“ You have heard of Monsieur Belmont’s 
ruin ?” 

“ It is true, then ? I told the people who told 
me of it, that it was their jealousy made them be- 
lieve the report ! Is it possible that his bank, 
that seemed so secure, should have come to 
this?” 

It is too true, Clorinda. Monsieur Belmont 
told me all, with the most disgusting coolness, 
just three days ago. But he was not content with 
this, he wished to break my heart as well. He 
never loved me. What do you think he has done 
to make my desolation complete ?” 

“ I can not think.” 

“ He has taken away my children, my sweet 


THE BETTER PART. 


157 


little girls, and placed them under the care of 
Madame de I’Ortal, as if I, their mother, were in- 
capable of taking care of them. Is it not too 
cruel ?” 

Dreadful !” echoed Madame de Maillebois, 
with an ironical inflection in her voice ; every 
one knew how devoted you were to the little dar- 
lings, and how you loved them.” 

Martha did not fail to detect the sarcasm, but 
carefully abstained from noticing it. 

“ Under these circumstances, dear Clorinda, I 
thought I might venture to rely upon your aid. 
I am sure I am not mistaken. I can not at the 
present moment obtain any ready money ; would 
you mind advancing me a small sum until Mon- 
sieur de Belmont’s affairs are wound up?” 

“ It is unfortunately out of my power just now,” 
said the countess curtly. “ I have had losses my- 
self this year. My farmers were in distress, and 
I had to forgive them the greater part of their 
rent. I could not possibly draw upon the money 
I have in hand without seriously inconveniencing 
myself, and, in fact, leaving myself short of funds, 
which would necessitate a loan before the year is 
out. Now a loan is always a dangerous remedy, 
not to say a dishonest one ; for one seldom has re- 
course to it unless one’s affairs are so muddled as 
not to allow a fair prospect of repaying it. Be- 
lieve me, my dear, I am very sorry to be so situ- 


58 


THE BETTER PART. 


ated just now. I hope you will come and see me 
again ; your visits are always a great pleasure to 
me.’' 

Clorinda de Maillebois lazily closed her eyes 
as she said these last words, and seemed very 
much inclined to continue her morning’s nap. 

Martha rose, bowed slightly, and withdrew : 
her vanity was sadly hurt, the more so as she 
heard these words, which the countess took care 
to say in a loud key as soon as the velvet por- 
tiere fell behind her visitor, 

“ Rosa, whenever Madame Belmont calls 
again, I shall not be at home.” 

Ah !” thought Martha, as she re-entered her 
carriage ; “ she need not fear my importunities 
any further, the ungrateful woman ! But surely 
Lady Peebles will make up to me for this slight.” 

Lady Peebles lived in a hired house in the 
Rue du Beanne, where she spent six months out 
of every twelve. Envious busybodies affirmed 
that she had no right to the title she bore, and that 
her father had been a hatter and her husband a ha- 
berdasher. Both trades must have paid well, for 
after Jonathan Peebles’ death, his widow set out in 
great state on a lengthened tour through Europe, 
and claimed the title of Lady Peebles. She was 
among the women of doubtful character against 
whom Monsieur Belmont had often vainly warned 
his wife ; and as for Madame de Maillebois, though 


THE BETTER PART. 


159 


she was really a countess, she was not re- 
ceived in the society of her own relations for 
reasons known to few of her acquaintance. The 
trio composed of these two ladies and Olympia 
de Verles, every one of them undesirable compa- 
nions, had been foremost in fawning upon Mar- 
tha, and had always excited Monsieur Belmont’s 
hearty disgust. 

Lady Peebles met her friend very solemnly, 
and, pointing to a seat, asked Martha in a curt, 
ungracious tone, what might be the purport of 
her visit. 

I am here because I am in trouble,” candid- 
ly said Martha ; you assured me of your friend- 
ship and devotion so often that I do not hesitate 
to test them now, by asking you for the loan of a 
small sum, pending the settlement of my- hus- 
band’s affairs. I am sure that with your immense 
fortune, you can not have the heart to forsake a 
friend in distress.” 

“ My immense fortune ! I am afraid you are 
mistaken as to its amount. I am on the point of 
seriously drawing in my expenses; my money 
was lodged for the greater part in the funds of a 
London ship-owner, who has just lost several ves- 
sels, and has stopped payment in consequence. 
You see I have not the means wherewith to help 
you. Monsieur Belmont deceived me as to his 
position ; I believed him to be an honest man, but 


i6o 


THE BETTER PART. 


it seems I was wrong in my estimate of his cha- 
racter.” 

Martha apathetically let this insult to her hus- 
band pass, and rose to take her leave. 

“ Take my advice,” said Lady Peebles ; “ you 
have been a little imprudent ; you made too sure 
that your money could never fail you. I hope 
this will be a wholesome lesson to you. If there 
is one thing to be avoided, it is straining after the 
same display which you formerly indulged in. I 
never liked to say so before, but it really went be- 
yond the bounds of decency. Good-by now, and 
do not give up all for lost.” 

Lady Peebles held out two fingers, but Mar- 
tha, refusing to see them, left the room in a sombre 
passion of outraged feeling. A little girl, a niece 
of Lady Peebles, and whom this personage 
brought up, was playing in the anteroom, and 
going up to Martha, examined her from head to 
foot, and took her hand, as she said, 

“ Are you the beautiful Madame Belmont ?” 

“Yes, I am Madame Belmont; but what do 
you want with me, little girl?” 

“ Well, I heard my aunt say last night that she 
did not mean to take any more notice of you, be- 
cause you were no longer rich, and besides, never 
had been any thing but an upstart of a gover- 
ness!” 

Martha nearly lost all self-control at these 


THE BETTER PART. l6x 

Stinging words, and retreated precipitately to her 
carriage. 

''To Madame de Verles,” she cried to her 
coachman, naming the address. " At least,” she 
thought passionately, " Olympia must make up 
to me for these slights ; she whom I have laid 
under so many obligations, and almost saved from 
poverty, will she not save me in return?” 

Madame de Verleswas dressed to go out, and 
was evidently vexed by Martha’s inopportune 
arrival. 

" Dear love, I heard of your misfortune,” she 
hastened to say, " and I should have been so glad 
to offer you even the slenderest help ; but as you 
probably know, my income is very small, too 
small for my heart.” 

"I thought, Olympia, that you might have re- 
membered our friendship,” said Martha. " You 
always found me ready enough to sympathize 
with you in your troubles.” 

" I do not deny the many services you have 
rendered me,” said Madame de Verles ; " far from 
it ; but at the present moment it is impossible for 
me to do any thing. I hope ,to be better situated 
in a few days ; but excuse me, love, I have an ap- 
pointment, and can not delay any longer.” 

" This is ingratitude, indeed, Olympia. I do 
not believe that you ever loved me,” cried Ma- 
dame Belmont. 


THE BETTER TART. 


162 


“ I scorn to notice your innuendoes, madame,” 
answered Olympia, “ and I will not bear you ma- 
lice lor them. Good-by for the present.” 

Madame de Verles left the house, and Martha 
drove home, sick with passion and disappoint- 
ment. On her arrival, a note from Madame de 
rOrtal was put into her hands. It ran as fol- 
lows : 

According to Monsieur Belmont’s entreaties, 
1 went to his house to see his children. Their 
mother was not at home ; but since I have reason 
to believe that she cares little or nothing for them, 
I had the two poor little things removed to my 
house with as much care as circumstances would 
permit. Madame Belmont need not trouble her- 
self to inquire after them. They are in the charge 
of a person who will not forsake them, and who 
is actuated by her sincere affection for Monsieur 
Belmont. Madame de l’Ortal.” 

The bailiffs were just entering the house, and 
the inventory was about to be drawn up when 
Martha finished reading this letter. “ It is a hard 
struggle,” she thought, “ and every one forsakes 
me. But I will not yield, and I am determined 
to find some means of existence. I must and will. 
Glide from the rank and station I have so dearly 
won ? never !” 


XIIL 


Let us return to the Dalbau family, whom we 
shall find seated in silence around the dining-table, 
on the eve of the day which is to see Monsieur 
Legrand paid in full or Lucien declared a bankrupt. 
No one has any appetite ; each one’s countenance 
is pale with anxiety, and each strives to force back 
his own tears that he may not add to the grief 
of his neighbor or take from him what little for- 
titude he has mustered for the occasion. No 
sound is heard but the baby’s unconscious cries, 
and even his crowing fails to bring the ready 
smile, as it always did before, to the lips of the 
young mother. Lucien looks the ghost of him- 
self, and his clinched hands tremble visibly. A 
little apprentice runs in to announce the Abbe 
Surville. The company rises, in sign of respect- 
ful welcome. 

“ Sit still, my good friends,’' says the priest ; 
“ I am not come to intrude on your grief.” 

‘'You know,” answers Lucien, “that your 


64 


THE BETTER PART. 


presence among us is always either a crown to 
our pleasures or a comfort in our troubles.” 

Thanks,” said the priest, pressing Lucien’s 
hand. And how is this little darling ? He 
seems sad, too,” he went on, as he kissed the 
baby’s forehead. 

The poor child has felt neglected these last 
days,” said Marie. “ He misses the bright faces 
he has been used to, and I think he knows some- 
thing has gone wrong.” 

“ Well,” returned the priest, ‘‘ let us talk of 
yourselves. How is it with you ?” 

Simply that I shall be a marked man to- 
morrow morning,” said Lucien. 

There is, then, a great deal wanting to com- 
plete the sum you owe ?” 

‘‘We have turned all we have into cash,” said 
old Madame Dalbau, “ but could not gather 
more than ten thousand francs, which is just half 
our debt.” 

“And you know of no one who could help you ?” 

“ No. Who could, except my poor brother- 
in-law, who is now worse off than ourselves ?” 
quoth Lucien. 

“ And did it never occur to you that your 
old friend, the Abb6 Surville, might be able to do 
something for you ?” 

“You?” asked Marie in surprise. “I know, 
dear sir, that you have nothing of your own but 


THE BETTER PART. 


165 


a small pittance that would barely support 
you, if you had not an additional stipend as 
parish priest of St. Stephen’s.” 

True, dear child ; but you may remember 
that I fell heir to six thousand francs about eigh- 
teen months ago, and, besides this, I have accu- 
mulated a similar sum from the savings of a forty 
years’ ministry. I had placed both these sums 
out at interest, that they might increase, and 
serve as something to fall back upon when I 
shall be too infirm to perform the active func- 
tions of the priesthood. They are in safe and 
honest hands, and at this moment, Lucien, they 
are at your disposal.” 

“ At my disposal !” cried Lucien. “ Impos- 
sible ! But any how I could not think of accept- 
ing such a sacrifice.” 

“ How could we take from you,” added Marie, 
“ the only security you have for the comfort of 
your old age ?” 

Am I no longer to consider myself your 
friend ?” gravely said the good priest. “ Let us 
look at things calmly. If I thought that you could 
never pay me, I could hardly help you now, for 
my means would not allow that. But you know 
very well that there is every chance in your 
favor. Did you not say yourself, Lucien, that 
with a little time to look around you, you could 
easily dispose of the furniture left on your hands ?” 


THE BETTER PART. 


I66 

“ I think so still ; for the simple reason that 
each piece would be sold at a proper price, 
not being thrown pell-mell into the market ; 
whereas, at an auction, such a quantity of things 
could not fail to sell at nominal prices. I should 
lose every thing* I have, and even then my cre- 
ditors’ claims would be but half satisfied.” 

“You see,” said Monsieur Surville, “that I 
am not making so un business-like a bargain after 
all ! Think no more about it, Lucien, but just 
take these notes to Monsieur Legrand to-morrow 
morning, and then bravely face the situation, 
and make the best of it. I should have made 
this proposal earlier, and not left you to grieve 
so long, had I been certain of being able speedily 
to draw my money from the bank where I had 
invested it. Thank God ! all difficulty is re- 
moved now, and I shall see you all right yet.” 

The abbe had hardly done speaking when 
the whole party were on their knees before him, 
covering his hands with grateful kisses. 

“ Get up, dear children, I beg of you,” he re- 
monstrated ; “ you should not kneel to any one 
but God.” 

“ But God sent you to us,” said Marie excit- 
edly. “ How shall we ever repay your good- 
ness ?” 

“ By serving God, and praying to Him for 
me,” said the good priest. 


THE BETTER PART. 


167 


Alb^ric, little darling,” said the young mo- 
ther, placing her child on the abbe’s knee, “ why 
can not you too thank the friend who has saved 
your father ?” 

The child, seeing his mother’s face wear its 
usual radiant look again, seemed to understand 
that something good had taken place, and beat 
the air joyfully with his tiny hands. The priest 
pressed the infant to his heart, and- repeatedly 
kissed its rosy cheeks. 

“ You have done more than saved my life,” said 
Lucien ; “ you have saved my good name ; but it 
shall never be said that you benefited one who 
was ungrateful to you for this great service. . . 

Still,” he continued after a moment’s pause, we 
only want ten thousand francs, and I must ask 
you to take back the surplus two thousand. Mon- 
sieur.” 

“ Not at all ; you have sacrificed all to put to- 
gether the half of your debt, and I will not have 
you leave yourselves short of ready money for 
current expenses ; two thousand francs is none 
too much for that. Besides, I really should not 
know, at a moment’s notice, where and how to 
invest it.” 

‘‘ Then,” said Lucien, there remains 
nothing to be done but to draw up an ac- 
knowledgment of the sum you have so gene- 
rously lent us. If you will dictate what- 


THE BETTER PART. . 


1 68 

ever form you please, I will make it out at 
once.’’ 

“No, no, not to-night ; let us take a little 
rest after the fatigues of so many days of anxiety. 
It will be time enough to-morrow.” 

The evening ended as merrily as it had begun 
sadly ; old Madame Dalbau and Yvonne were 
wild with delight, and could not refrain from 
blessing the kind old priest who had brought their 
children such timely relief. 

“ I told you that God would watch over us, 
Lucien,” said Marie when Monsieur Surville had 
left them. 

“ It is because I have a guardian angel ever 
near me,” answered her husband ; “ and its name 
is Marie, my sweet wife.” 

Monsieur Legrand opened his eyes very wide 
next morning, when Lucien brought him the 
whole amount of the sum owing to him. 

“ So,” he remarked in a sharp voice, “ it was 
necessary to frighten you with the bankruptcy- 
court to make you pay your debts ?” 

“ Sir,” answered Lucien firmly, “ I submitted 
in silence, when I knew that, however merciless 
you were, you still had right on your side ; but I 
shall not brook an insult from you or any one 
else.” 

Monsieur Legrand signed the receipt without 
another word. 


THE BETTER PART. 


169 


So peace was restored among the Dalbau 
household ; but with it returned the leisure to 
think over his brother-in-law’s misfortune, and 
Lucien often speculated on the chances of Mon- 
sieur Belmont’s having been extricated from his 
difficulties, by some means as unexpected as that 
which had saved him. 

Three days after the happy termination of 
•the Legrand affair, he received a letter with an 
English post-mark: his heart died within him; 
what news did it bring ? it was in his brother-in- 
law’s handwriting. He opened it, and read as 
follows : 


‘‘ Southampton, England. 

''My Dear Lucien: I should hardly dare 
still to call you brother, if you did not know my 
past life and trials. I am dishonored forever, and 
can not bear to remain in France. I am going 
to America with nothing but my brains and my 
hands for a recommendation, and hope to find 
work there, a thing now impossible at home. 

" I entreat you to take charge of my little girls, 
poor little darlings ! Madame de I’Ortal pro- 
mised me not to forsake them, but I trust that 
you yourself will watch over them. I recom- 
mend them to my sister Marie’s care. One of 
them is named Marie, after her. Of their mother, 
I will not trust myself to speak ; but I should like 


THE BETTER PART. 


170 

you to find out whether she was able to save her 
share of my fortune, and to sell her jewels to ad- 
vantage. 

“ Do not pity me, brother. I have been weak- 
minded, and now reap the legitimate fruits of such 
weakness. With a little more strength of pur- 
pose, I might perhaps have averted these misfor- 
tunes. My heart craved the peaceful delights of 
home-life, and its affection once engaged, life is 
unable to steer itself against the object of its for- 
mer love. Do not scorn me, Lucien, on account 
of the dishonor which I have involuntarily brought 
on my name ; I should die if I thought that you 
would thus take away 3^our friendship from me. 
If God blesses my efforts, I shall see you again 
soon. 

“ Remember me to your dear wife, and bid her 
pray for her poor brother : kiss your own little 
Alberic for my sake. Farewell, Lucien ; may it 
not be forever! 

Your loving and unhappy brother, 

“Alberic Belmont. 

“P. S. — Address your letters to the care of 
Messrs. Randolph and Co., Bankers, New- 
York.” 

“ Ay, my poor Alberic, I will watch over 
your children,” thought Lucien; “it shall be a 
sacred duty in my e^xs.” 


THE BETTER PART. 


lyi 

He showed Marie the letter, and when she 
had read it, she glanced up at him with moisten- 
ed eyes. One look, and they had read each 
other’s hearts. 

“We leave for Paris to-morrow, that is set- 
tled, is it not?” said Lucien. Marie answered 
by throwing her arms round his neck and burst- 
ing into tears. 

“ Never mind, darling,” he said, “ don’t fret. 
God will bring Alberic home some day ; and as 
for Martha, let us hope that she too will see her 
faults, and generously amend them.” 


XIV. 

Monsieur Dalbau left his work-shop next 
morning in the care of his foreman, an honest 
and conscientious man, while old Madame Dal- 
bau resumed the charge of Marie’s work- women, 
a duty which the young wife had long ago under- 
taken in propria persona. Yvonne was constituted 
the special guardian of baby Alberic, and over- 
whelmed with manifold directions as to keeping 
the very winds of heaven from visiting his cheek 
too roughly ; and when all these preliminaries 
were ended, Lucien and Marie took their places 
in the Paris coach. 

The journey seemed long to the anxious 
woman, who constantly asked the conductor how 
many miles distant Paris was ? 

There is a pretty little lady, who is in a 
wonderful hurry to see the sights of the capital,” 
said the conductor to the post-boy. 

“ Faith, young people are mightily curious !” 
sagely answered the latter. 

Marie had no sooner reached Paris, than she 


THE BETTER PART. 


173 


rushed straight to her sister’s house, but Mar- 
tha was not there. 

“ Madame left a fortnight ago,” said the por- 
ter ; “ and I do not know her address.” 

“ I am her sister. I beg of you, tell me all you 
know about her.” 

“ Ah ! are you Madame Belmont’s sister ? 
Then I will tell you all. Madame Belmont 
thought she could save her jewels and her ward- 
robe ; but she was not allowed to do so, nor even 
to recover her dowry. There is little enough as 
it is to divide among all the creditors : the dis- 
play in this house was something terrific ! Ma- 
dame left the house on foot, in the plainest dress 
possible, she who never went out but in the car- 
riage ; but she did not say where she was going, 
and I know nothing about that.” 

“ And her children ?” 

“ Oh ! she did not care much what became of 
them. They are at Madame de TOrtal’s, a good, 
kind lady. When the baroness came to fetch 
them, they were dying of the small-pox. It was 
not easy to take them away without exposing 
them to the cold air, so the baroness had their 
cradles well covered up and her servants carried 
them to her house. I was very glad, for it was 
dreadful to think of the poor little things being 
mewed up in an attic just under the roof; that 
is where Madame Belmont left them.” 


74 


THE BETTER PART. 


“ Where does Madame de I’Ortal live said 
Marie, her voice choked with sobs. 

The porter gave the address. 

“ Thanks,” said Lucien, pressing money into 
the man’s hand. The porter bowed low as he let 
them out. Marie, broken-hearted, gave way to 
the most dismal apprehensions. “ Where can 
Martha be ?” she said, what has become of 
her?” 

In vain Lucien tried to soothe her, when at 
last they reached Madame de TOrtal’s house, 
and asked to see her at once. She did not keep 
them waiting long ; but poor Marie was so 
wretched that she could scarcely speak, and Ma- 
dame de rOrtal’s heart went out to her as she 
took her hand, and answered gently after a while, 

“ So, madame, you are Marie of whom 
Monsieur Belmont spoke so enthusiastically to 
me ? He was not mistaken in calling you a no- 
ble woman, since the misfortunes of an ungrate- 
ful, hard-hearted sister can grieve you so.” 

Martha zs my sister, madame, and what 
right have I to judge her? Tell me, I beseech 
you, do you know where she is?” 

“ I have not the slightest idea,” said the 
baroness. “ I did not wish to see her again. 
She has ruined Monsieur Belmont’s happiness, 
the man whom I love as my own son, and I could 
not see or speak to her again.” 


THE BETTER PART. 


175 


“ But you took charge of my nieces, madame. 
May I not see them?” 

“ Certainly. Come this way,” said Madame 
de rOrtal, as she led Lucien and Marie to a bed- 
room not far from her own. The two little girls 
were asleep together in a large cradle ; their tiny 
features still bore the traces of the disease which 
had so nearly carried them off ; still they were so 
pretty in their sleep, and Valentine, though so 
young, was already so like her mother, that Ma- 
rie threw herself on her knees by the cradle, and, 
clasping the two children to her breast, nearly 
fainted with love and joy. 

Madame,” she cried at last, “ you will not 
insist on keeping these two little angels, will 
you ? Let me take them home with me, I beg of 
you. They are almost my own.” 

Madame de TOrtal, strangely moved by this 
scene, pressed Marie’s hand, and, wiping away 
the tears that streamed down her cheeks, said, 
as Lucien had said once before, “ Ah ! why 
did not my poor Alberic find a Marie to love 
him ?” 

The baroness then set to work to help Lucien 
and his wife find some trace of Martha. It was 
settled that the Dalbaus were to devote a fort- 
night to this task, and at the end of that time, 
if the children were well enough to bear the 
journey, and no news of their mother had yet 


176 


THE BETTER PART. 


been obtained, they were to be taken home to 
Rennes, and Madame de TOrtal would undertake 
the necessary inquiries and keep Lucien and 
Marie posted as to the result. 

Twelve days elapsed, with no more success 
than the first, though Marie was untiring in her 
efforts, and never drew back before the most 
fatiguing search. Her husband zealously helped 
her, but in vain. The baroness, more and more 
struck with such admirable self-devotion, had 
made up her mind that she might safely trust 
Marie with the care of Monsieur Belmont’s chil- 
dren. 

Two days later, Lucien suddenly came face to 
face with Martha’s maid Celestine. He stopped 
her, judging that she might know the details of 
which he was in search. As luck would have 
it, she did, and to his eager questions, she an- 
swered thus, 

“Yes^ indeed, madame is in great trouble, 
she who was once so haughty and stand-offish. 
You will find her in a garret now. No. 7, such 
and such a street.” 

Lucien waited for no more, but paid Celes- 
tine well for her information, and rushed home 
with the good news to Marie, who was fast giv- 
ing way to despair. 

The house and street were soon found, and 
Marie asked nervously for Madame Belmont. 


THE BETTER PART. 


177 

“ Sixth floor, the door at the bottom of the 
passage,” was the answer. 

What a change from the luxury of the house 
Lucien remembered so well ! They scaled the 
stairs, and reached a miserable garret open to 
the biting December wind, and where Martha 
lay on a wretched pallet. 

Alas ! she was no longer the beautiful Mar- 
tha ; her face was swollen out of all shape, and 
thickly covered with loathsome small-pox pim- 
ples. One comforting sight, one ray of heaven’s 
brightness, relieved this dismal picture ; a Sister 
of Charity sat silently at the bed-side. Her pre- 
sence there proved that God at least had not for- 
saken Martha — that He had heard her sister’s 
fervent prayers in her behalf. 

Martha, Martha !” cried Marie, unable to 
check her emotion, and bathing her sister’s face 
with her tears, ‘‘ Martha, don’t you know me ? I 
am Marie.” 

Martha started up with a frightened look. 
“ Who speaks of Marie ?” she said. “ Marie has 
forsaken me like Clorinda, like Olympia. I have 
no one to love me now, and I must die.” 

No, darling, you shall not !” said Marie, 
clasping her arms round her sister, you shall 
not die ; I am here, Martha, and I love you. Try 
to remember me, dear.” 

These gentle words seemed to bring back 


178 


THE BETTER BART. 


Martha’s consciousness. She opened her eyes, 
and recognized her sister and Lucien. 

Ah! do not take your revenge on me, now,” 
she cried, have mercy on me.” And she fell 
back fainting on her pallet. 

Madame,” gently interposed the Sister of 
Charity, '‘let her come round by degrees. I 
will not leave your sister, but I can not answer 
for her life if you stay here.” 

“Ah Sister! must I leave her?” said Marie, 
clasping her hands in entreaty. 

“ It is the only chance that can save her.” 

“ I will go then ; but Sister, you will stay with 
her night and day, will you not ? And send for 
me, as soon as I can show myself without hurt- 
ing her !” 

“ I will, madame,” said Sister Louise gravely. 
Marie softly kissed her sister’s brow and left 
with Lucien. Not a day passed that she did not 
go to the house to learn how Martha was getting 
on, and a day came at last when she was allowed 
to see the invalid, and tell her that a sister and a 
new and loving home awaited her. 

For the first time in her life, Martha shed 
tears of genuine emotion, and three weeks later, 
Marie, restored to happiness as her sister was to 
health, joyfully made her appearance in the shop 
of the Rue d’Estr6e at Rennes. She carried 
baby Marie in her arms, and was followed by 


THE BETTER PART. 


179 




Lucien, who with one arm supported Martha, and 
carried the smiling Valentine on the other. 

“ Mother,’’ said Marie, as she placed the twins 
in Madame Dalbau’s lap, “ I bring you two 
more children.” Then, turning to Martha, and 
taking her hand, she added, ‘‘ And here is one 
more daughter to love you, mother.” 

The old lady clasped both sisters in her arms, 
and Lucien silently wiped away a tear, while 
Yvonne took forcible possession of the children. 


EPILOGUE. 


Our task is done. We have finished our 
sketch of two lives starting from the same point, 
and ending so diversely. 

Why has Martha, so gifted with the highest 
qualities of mind and body, become to all save 
her sister an object of contempt? And Marie, 
humble and modest, and simple-minded as she 
is, why is she looked up to, and beloved by all ? 

Because every life can be moulded into two 
separate grooves. One of these is easy and 
pleasant ; but it leads to an abyss of remorse ; it is 
the path of worldly inclinations. And Martha, 
taking counsel of naught but her own pride 
and selfishness, followed it blindly, in the fond be- 
lief that she had chosen “ the better part.’' 

The path of duty is often hard, wearisome, and 
full of thorns ; but peace and confidence are the 
guerdon of each victory obtained over self, and 
the more you persevere in it, the easier it be- 
comes ; for there is no consciousness so sweet as 
that of a duty well performed. Marie walked 
bravely along this path, and her reward is now 


THE BETTER PART. 


I8l 

great. God has blessed her endeavors, she is hap- 
py, calm, and beloved. 

Let us give one more glance at the family 
whose vicissitudes we have related. Four years 
have passed quickly by since Martha came to live 
with her sister. Her beauty is gone, ruthlessly 
effaced by small-pox, and, selfish to the last, she 
weeps rather for this paltry loss, than for the tar- 
nished honor of her name ; she is still indifferent 
to her surroundings, and careless of her children. 

Let us hope that before the last solemn hour a 
better light will dawn on her soul, darkened as it 
is now by the mists of vanity and selfishness. Her 
children happily found a true mother in their 
aunt Marie ; they are nearly five years old, pretty 
and engaging, though not as lovely as their mo- 
ther once was. Valentine seems to have inherit- 
ed something of Martha’s callous nature, but her 
aunt is vigilant as well as loving. 

Lucien paid his old friend the Abbe Surville 
long ago. His business is flourishing ; and when 
he comes home at night, he looks with fond pride 
on five little childish forms, some fair, some dark ; 
for besides his son Alberic, and his nieces, Mar- 
tha’s children, he is now the father of two more, 
a lovely little girl called Lucienne, who is three 
years old, and a fat, year-old boy, named Stephen. 

Madame Dalbau is young in heart, and Yvonne 
is never happy but among her blessed children, 


THE BETTER PART. 


182 

as she calls them. Marie is the soul and centre of 
the happy home. Her children worship her ; her 
husband and mother-in-law lean upon her. The 
only thing that makes her unhappy is Martha’s 
callous indifference to the fact of her husband’s 
absence. 

Alberic had not written to Lucien for an age, - 
and the latter was getting anxious, when he 
received a most welcome letter, of which we will 
copy the concluding lines. 

** I will accept your proposal grat'^fully. I am 
coming home to France, and will set bravely to 
work. I hope I shall be able to satisfy you, and 
it shall be my endeavor to retrieve, at some dis- 
tant day, the lost honor of my name. 

I will be your partner, Lucien, though I am 
far from worthy of the position. For your sake 
I will endeavor never to reproach my wife for 
the ruin she has brought upon me. I shall 
be with you in a few days ; I shall see my darling 
children ; I am too happy, spite of all that has 
come and gone. ' * 

“ Farewell, Lucien, for the present. God 
bless and reward you forever !” 




THE 




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